My lost soul
by requestofthemoon
Summary: Artemis has the blood of an angel, which makes her pretty powerful. When her best friend Clary Fray goes off with her possessed bf, Jace, and evil brother, Sebastian, she decides to come along to help. M for certain chapters.
1. Chapter 1

1

Shadowhunters are pricks.

I mean that in the kindest way. But after working with them for fifty years, you start to notice something consistent about them. And it's that they're all very pricky-like.

That's why I was somewhat delighted to meet the newest generation. The Lightwood family, the Herondale boy, and Clary. In fact, I've never had a best friend before I had Clary. We met a little after her scuffle with the Seelie Queen. It was around the same time the wards around Alincante were taken down. The Clave had searched for me then, beseeching me for aid. It was more or less a threat I didn't really feel like declining, because it meant I got to live at the Institute. Fun right?

My parents weren't too thrilled. You see, my family is one of magic proportions. We aren't warlocks – we aren't Downworlders of any kind. We aren't human either. We're angel-blooded: ten times as powerful as the Nephilim, a fact that made is extremely valuable to the Clave It's the same reason my parents had all memory of themselves wiped, so they could live in peace without being pestered for help. I, being as curious as I was, decided to step out with my power and help where I could. The attention was nice, and the pay was pretty amazing.

Can't say I regret the decision completely.

"I have a plan," Clary says.

Simon and I groan in unison. "I was afraid of that," he says.

"My plans are _not _terrible."

"Isabelle's plans are terrible," I say, waving the spoon I used to stir my coffee. "Your plans are suicidal. At best."

Clary sits back and crosses her arms over her chest. There's a line of determination creasing her forehead. "Do you want to hear it or not? You have to keep it a secret."

"I would pluck my own eyes out with –"

I swat the vampire's shoulder. "Just tell us."

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small black bag made of velvet. She dumps the contents onto the table, which clatter and hum against each other when they make contact. When they still, I realize they're golden rings.

Simon frowns. "You wanna get married?"

"Don't be an idiot," I say, picking up one ring. "These are those rings, aren't they? The one the Seelie Queen wanted you to steal." I recognize the designs.

"I thought you never got them," Simon frowns.

"I lied." She doesn't look the least bit bothered. "I took them. After I saw Jace in the library, I didn't want to give them to her anymore. I had a feeling we might need them. She wasn't going to give us any useful information, so these seemed more valuable than her time."

"Clary, you can't just take things the Seelie Queens wants and keep them. She's a dangerous enemy to have," I say. My father would agree. He and the Queen were bedmates once. It's the reason why my mom despises faeries.

She sighs. "Can we at least check to see if they work?"

I hand the one I'm holding to Simon, who slips it on his finger. Clary slips the other one on her own, and silence sits between them.

Simon blinks. "I – can you do that again?"

Silence again. I see Clary smirk, just slightly, and Simon jumps. "I _heard_ that! And no."

"Think something back to me!" she says excitedly.

A few more seconds of silence, then Simon blushes. Well, as best as a vampire can blush. "Enough," he says, but he doesn't sound quiet annoyed. He seems excited, too. "Holy crap. They really work."

"Now that we've established that," I say dryly. "Can we move on to your idea?"

Her idea doesn't sound any better in detail. Since Jace is under Sebastian's influence, she thinks that the best way to save him is to go with him. Clary explains as best as she can, but Simon keeps cutting her off with a sharp "No." I can't blame him – the idea is stupid. It's risky, impulsive, with less than 20% of a chance that it will work.

I can't let her do it alone.

"I'm coming with you," I say, swirling the last bit of my coffee. Since I added way too much sugar, it's basically just a runny cluster of crystals. But I down it anyway, wincing at the sweetness that assaults my taste buds. "No arguing."

She's already shaking her head before I can finish. "There's no way Jace will let you come along."

I wiggle my fingers. "Magic, my little red-headed friend. I can follow without Jace ever knowing."

"You can't stay hidden forever. If they find out I'm hiding somebody with me, we'll both get in trouble. And what about Sebastian? He'll never trust you. He'll probably kill you, then kill me too."

"He won't kill you," I argue. "Jace wouldn't let him. And don't worry about that – I have my ways of making myself useful to people. And demon-blooded or not, a kid like Sebastian can't kill me." I've gone up against Greater Demons before and won.

She purses her lips. "I have to do this alone, Arta."

Arta. Short for Artemis. A very cool name, if I do say so myself. "I can separate them."

Her eyes flash and she sits up just a little straighter. "What?"

I shift a bit in my seat, and focus on a tendril of loose hair on the side of her eye. "I might be able to break the bond between Sebastian and Jace. Make it so one can die while the other remains, well, not dead."

She's silent for about half a second before she shoots to her feet. "Why the _hell _didn't you tell me this before?!"

"Clary," Simon ushers. Just then she seems to realize everyone in the diner is looking at us.

She sits down. Her skin is flushed with mild anger, and I try not to laugh. If Clary gets angry enough, her skin matches the color of her hair. It cracks me up every time. "Why – didn't – you – tell – me?" She says each word slowly, and deadly quiet.

I open my mouth to spill a quick yet believable lie, but I hesitate. I don't actually _know_ if I can break that bond. I've never personally dealt with something like that. I don't know its boundaries, its requirements, or if even _can _be broken. But I've dealt with all magic – demon, warlock, angel, whatever. I can do this. And so that's what I tell her.

She doesn't look completely sold. But she's so desperate, she grasps onto that chance anyway. "So why do you need to come along? Can't you just wave your hand and make it happen?"

"I need to see the mark. I need to see what it's doing, too. Just hearing the details isn't going to help. I have to meet Jace _and _Sebastian." Though I'm not thrilled to meet the latter. He sounds like the kind of guy my Dad would have invited to tea when he was younger. Now? My mom has a strict no-murderers-in-the-house rule.

"I feel like I should say something," Simon says. "You know. Try to keep you from going."

I glance at him mildly. "Your head, vampire."

"I think it would be a good bonding experience," he says quickly. He smiles sheepishly. "To be honest, I kind of want to be there when Arta meets Sebastian."

"I'll give you all the deets," I say cheerfully. "Oh, and I think it goes without saying that my parents can _not _know about this." My eyes flash silver briefly. My mother is somewhat like Jocelyn in the sense that if she knew I was doing something reckless, she would throttle me. My Dad would probably be peeved that I gave their contact number to one of my friends. But I figure if I can't trust them to treat my parents' company as something only to be called upon in desperation, then I can't trust them with anything.

He swallows. "Ma'am yes ma'am." He turns to Clary. "So you're seriously doing this?"

"There isn't anything I wouldn't do for Jace," she says firmly. It never fails to startle me just how in love she is. It's real love too, not just some teenage lust.

Simon leans against the booth. The Mark of Cain glows faintly against his skin. "Don't say that," he says quietly.

"Wouldn't you do anything for the people you love?"

"I'd do almost anything for you. I'd die for you. You know that. But think about what will happen if you live with Jace – the things you'll have to do to convince them that you're really on their side. Killing innocents? Is it really love to tell someone that if it came down to picking between them and every other life on the planet, you'd pick them? Is that sort of love moral at all?"

"Love isn't moral or immoral," I say quietly. "It just is." If there's anything I've learned from my parents, it's that. I don't think Simon will understand, because his love for Clary is the most moral, purest thing out there. I used to think he was still puppying after her, and maybe a part of him still is, but I now realize it's something short of a sibling bond. Not quite that sort of taboo, but not as romantic as something else. It's sickly sweet.

They continue talking, and with each word I tap my fingers quicker against the table. I'm not wholly sure if this is a good idea or not – I know Sebastian won't be thrilled to see an uninvited guest. I shouldn't be afraid, but his type is frightening in the sense that they're always one step ahead. Of course, he doesn't know how to kill me. Hell, there _isn't _a way to kill me. But he does seem like the type to figure out some secret weakness I didn't even know I had.

"Just remember," Simon says. "When your mother's gnawing at my ankle like a furious mama bear separated from her cub, I did it for you."

"Awesome," I say. "So when do we leave?"

"As soon as possible," she says. "Come on."

* * *

For those of you who have never shapeshifted into the form of a purse . . . I don't recommend it. Like, at all. I told Clary not to stuff anything in me, but she seemed to forget that when Jace showed up and she shoved her tube of chapstick in my depths.

I sigh internally as I listen to their lover's reunion. I'm half worried I'll have to listen to them make out.

"Faith," Jace says softly. He really does have a sexy voice, though I never mentioned that to Clary. "You have to have faith. But you have to know – once you come with me, there's no going back. Not for a long time."

Shit. Clary may have steel strong faith in her pretty boyfriend, but I sure as hell don't.

_Suck it up, Arta. _

"There never has been any going back," she says. "Not with you."

I'm gonna be sick.

"We should go," she says.

"You sure?" The hope in his voice is so innocent, so joyful that it actually makes me pause and wonder if this is the real Jace, having just broken his mask when he realized that his girlfriend really would follow him to the ends of the earth.

"I'm sure."

Then they actually _do _kiss. I don't have much to listen to, because suddenly I feel myself spinning, and everything goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Clary sleeps like a rock, let me tell you.

Eventually, I had to pull myself out of my bag form and poke her into consciousness. When she stirs, I spit the tube of chapstick out and listen for any sound. The house is empty, and I don't sense any prying eyes. We're alone.

She sits up, sucking in a slow breath. "Are we . . . are we here?"

I nod, pushing myself off the bed. "This is the place. It reeks of demon and angel. The boys aren't home though. We might as well poke around a little."

"I'm going to shower," she says.

I shrug. "I'll be here."

Just before she walks into the bathroom, I open the closet door. Both of us pause to look at all the clothing inside. It looks like someone raided all the local designer stores and stuffed the stolen goods in here. Lovely patterns and designs, the way most petite-sized clothing are designed. Clary's tiny frame would make any of these look beautiful. I'd probably stretch them out.

She vanishes into the bathroom, and I stroll down the hallway. The first room I slip into is Jace's. And of course it's Jace's, because no teenage boy is capable of keeping his room so clean. Clary thought it reflected the fact that he could control some things in his life, but I thought it was a mild sign of insanity.

The next room isn't nearly as neat, and ironically, this puts me at ease. The bed is a tangle of black silk sheets, just like the ones I have in my own room. There are clothes scattered about the floor, weapons on the walls, and a mess of paper on the desk. It's a sort of organized chaos; a scene I want to take a picture of and tape to my wall.

I hear movement behind me, but relax when I recognize Clary's scent.

"So this is Sebastian's room," she says.

I nod, rocking back on my heels. "I was expecting more blood and bones, to be honest. Maybe a satanic alter in the corner."

"Maybe it's in the closet." Her heart isn't in the joke. There's too much hate to make way for humor. I can't blame her. I hate Sebastian too, for what he did to everyone. I knew Max personally. I let him borrow my Black Butler volumes. I didn't know anyone close who died in Alincante's brief fall, but I'm angry about that too.

I hear the slightest brush of movement in the hallway. It's so gentle, so quiet, I almost ignore it.

Almost.

The scent of darkness hits my nose and immediately I reshape into a bag, hanging from Clary's shoulder. I'm not sure if that's what makes her jump or the fact that her brother has her pinned against his chest, lips at her ear.

"What," he says quietly. "are you doing in my room?"

_Oh shit we're dead. Oh shit he's gonna kill us. Oh shit. Oh shit. _

Luckily, Jace appears at the last second. I open my eyes long enough to see Sebastian spin her around and flash a wolfy smile. "Good to see you, little sister."

That's honestly the worst save I've ever seen in my life, but Jace gobbles it up. "Were you _hugging _Clary?"

I feel his shrug through Clary's body. "She's my sister. I'm pleased to see her."

_Sure you are, ya nasty._

"_You _don't hug people."

"I ran out of time to bake a casserole."

I snort, which sounds a bit like the zipper being opened slowly. Clary quickly shuts it.

"It was nothing. I tripped. He kept me from falling over." She quickly scoots away, and the wash of dark demon is replaced by sweet angel.

"What were you doing up here?" Jace frowns.

"Looking for you," she says quickly. "I thought maybe you were asleep."

"I see you've discovered the clothing stash," Sebastian says, nodding at her clothes. "Do you like them?"

Jace cuts in. "We were out getting food," he says to Clary. "Nothing fancy, just bread and cheese. You want lunch?"

Well, might as well show myself while I can still enter with a witty remark. I suck in a breath, and suddenly I'm standing on Clary's other side.

"Yes please," I say. "I'm starving."

I have to admit, they reacted a lot quicker than I expected. But they're Shadowhunters and, well, I'm me. I flick aside Sebastian's thrown knife and wave a hand, freezing Jace in place momentarily before he can football tackle me. I've been victim of it before, and it's not fun.

I point to Sebastian. "Calm your tatas, big boy. I'm not here to hurt you."

I see Jace frown as his eyes light with recognition, and I allow him to move again. He doesn't attack. "Artemis?"

I grin. "How you doing?"

"Who are you?" Sebastian's calm unnerves me more than if he had yelled at me.

I lift my chin just slightly. "My name's Artemis, as the angel-boy said. Friend of Clary, angel-girl, worker of miracles, and whatever other title I can come up with on the spot." I pause. "Clary said I could come."

A look of murder flashes in her eyes. "I – "

"I knew we couldn't trust you," Sebastian sneers. "You brought a servant of the Clave with you."

"Hey!" Jace protests, at the same time I say some other choice words.

"I'm not Clave," I say calmly. "I'm on the side of whomever I chose. And right now, that's whatever side Clary chooses."

"Jace," Sebastian barks. "We need to leave."

I try putting a calming spell on Sebastian, but it bounces right off. Looks like minor magic won't work on him. Why? He can't be _that_ powerful.

"Just hear her out," Clary pleads. "Jace, you know how powerful she is, right?"

Sebastian hesitates, and in that moment angel-boy steps in. "She's right. Arta is magic. Angel magic. She's the most powerful thing I've ever seen. She can do things warlocks can't." He levels his gaze with the demon-boy in a plea. "She'd be a smart ally, brother."

Sebastian's gaze flickers to me, and for a moment I can't speak. I feel like I'm staring into the eyes of a particularly large white wolf, as white as his hair, with eyes as black as coals. "Why did you come?"

"I came to protect my friend," I say quietly, choosing my words carefully. "If that means protecting all of you, then I'll do it. I don't particularly care. And Jace is right. If you have me, the Clave will never be able to touch you. I could waltz us into Alincante and they'd never know." I smirk, just slightly.

He doesn't say anything for awhile. I want to look away from his gaze, but I don't. I meet it with my own, letting the silver of my eyes show. I keep them brown by habit, because silver tends to freak people out. But Sebastian doesn't look the least bit intimidated. In the black depths of his eyes, I can see the streak of my own, like cat slits.

Then he looks to his sister, and a smile spreads over his lips. It sends chills running down my spine. "Let's have lunch."

* * *

I've never felt more out of place in my life. I mean, it's something I'm used to, being part of such a rare race, and being the only girl in the group without a significant other (seriously though. _No one _is single). Now, looking at Sebastian, I realize we have two things in common. I doubt there are any demon-blooded Shadowhunters out there. And with his personality, I honestly doubt he has a steady girlfriend.

After a brief conversation about their mother and Clary downing a glass of wine I was sure she would ignore, she and Jace float away. I start to do the same, but I feel a cold hand on my wrist, anchoring me to the earth.

"Let's talk," Sebastian says.

I swallow the last bit of wine in my glass and lick the red from my lips. "Sure."

I figured out we were in Venice from the food we had, but I'm still surprised they picked such a nice place. I was expecting some shack in a third world country.

Sebastian brings us to a quiet garden, someplace that could be miles from the house or right in the backyard. It's too big for me to tell, and I didn't even see where we entered.

"If you plan on killing me and telling Clary I decided to leave, good luck," I say, and mentally curse myself. The serial killers never attack you unless they realize you know who they are and what they plan to do.

Sebastian only smiles. "Now why would I do that? Everyone seems to think you're smart company."

I glance at him. "You don't?"

"No," he says, smile unwavering. "I don't trust you."

I smile. "Fair enough. I trust my grandmother more than I trust you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Wouldn't most people?"

"My grandmother tried to kill my father. The one time we invited her over, she tried to kill me while I was still in my crib. She put rat poison in my baby bottle."

"How did that work out?"

I shrug. "She had a heart attack. Apparently after I drank the milk I gave her a 'devil's smile' that sent her straight to the hospital." I laugh, thinking about the comment my mom had made afterwards. _Your father was thinking about inviting her to Thanksgiving before we realized what she'd done. Imagine what she'd put in the turkey._

He grins. "Cute, but in the contest of worst childhood moments, I think I'd win."

I remember the meltdown at Clary's house, after Sebastian had showed up and nearly killed Luke. I was the first one there, protecting Jocelyn and Clary until we could get to Magnus. Jocelyn's greatest wish was that she had killed her son while he was still a baby. Personally, I always saw it as another reason to hate Valentine. He ruined her child, then raised him to be evil. Not that I'm defending him for being a little shit.

"I don't know," I continue absently. "My dad invited a demon into the house once because I made a bet with him."

"What bet?"

"That I could kill a demon with a spoon."

A look of surprise actually crosses his features. "Not possible."

I smile, a little guiltily. "The spoon was spelled, but I still won."

"Mmmm." He seems to have lost interest in my stories. "Remember at lunch, when I told Clary I'd be watching her for a week?"

"Yeah?"

"That doesn't apply to you." He glances back down at me. "You, I'm always going to be watching. If I feel like you are a threat to my family, then you're leaving. Understand?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Clary comes with me."

"She won't go with you. I won't have either of you endangering me and Jace."

_Sweet, isn't he? _"I'll be on my best behavior, _Sir_." I smirk and hold out my hand.

He shakes it. His grip is firm, and warmer than I expected. For some reason, I thought Sebastian would feel like ice. But he's warm, and when he yanks me forward so I crash into his chest, the heat from his body swallows me up. My heart hammers against my ribs, and all my magic halts.

His lips just barely brush against my ear. His scent washes over me as he whispers. "I'll make sure of that."


	3. Chapter 3

3

"Don't you dare," I hiss.

She gives me a cold look. "I have to."

"Clary, you can't do this to me," I plead. "You're my friend. Friends don't leave friends alone in the house with a psycho killer."

"For god's sakes, Arta, it's just a date! We're not gonna be gone _that _long."

Honestly, two minutes alone in the house with Sebastian is too long for me. That boy fries all my senses. It could be his demon blood, which I personally can't stand. Every time I catch his scent, I momentarily fear there's an actual demon behind me. But no, it's a deadly boy with a cold smile.

She lowers her voice. "I have to do this, Arta. I might find out something that could save Jace."

I open my mouth to object, but Jace cuts in. "Clary!" he calls, and she gives me an apologetic look.

"Clary _Fray!_" I bark, but she's already sprinted into the arms of her boyfriend. They vanish, and I'm alone downstairs.

I curse. Sebastian's in the shower right now. I can't leave the house – I'm under the same rules as she is. If I leave without permission, Sebastian might assume I went to the Clave and change locations. The house is layered with something I'd have trouble following, especially if it slipped through dimensions. While I _could _find them again, there's no way I could regain his trust. And this is all about –

"I guess it's just you and me now," a silky voice purrs in my ear.

I jump about a foot in the air after letting out an up dignified yelp. Sebastian roars with laughter, and I spin around, blood rushing to my face. He's been doing that for the past two days, and frankly, I'm sick of it.

"You're a dick, you know that?" I snap. At least, that's what I mean to say. When I get a look at him, my words die in my mouth. The first thing I see is his pale chest, which is just as defined as any Shadowhunter's, maybe a bit more so. Then his strong, sculpted arms which are crossed over said chest, making him look taller for some reason. He's clad in just a towel, which hangs dangerously low off his well-shaped hips. The kind of hips you could ride till the sun went down.

My face burns. "Jerk," I half-growl, and he grins.

"Is that your new pet name for me?" he asks. "Because if that's the case, then I've got quite a few for you."

"Keep them to yourself. I'm not a pet." I brush past him, and his arm barely touches mine. It's still slightly wet, and a droplet kisses my skin. I ignore the sensation and drop onto the couch. With a wave of my hand, The Hunger Games DVD appears and I pop it into the slot. I brush my fingers through the air, skipping through the trailers and piracy warnings. I vaguely hear Sebastian dropping his towel behind me, and I stiffen. Fear crawls through me, and I drop my hand so he won't see it tremble.

The couch sinks as he drops down across from me. He's wearing a black sweater and jeans. Casual, but they still manage to make him look like an evil male model.

_Aren't psychos supposed to look creepy or something? _I think sourly as I hit play and sink against the arm of the couch. If it weren't for his demon aura constantly putting me on edge, the only off thing abouth him would be his paleness. "I didn't know you were into movie nights."

"Depends on what we're watching," he says simply.

"Hunger Games." At his blank stare, I frown. "You know, girl on fire? Rebellion?" I whistle the trademark Mockingjay call. He continues to look as blank as a slate, and I make a face. "You've never heard of The Hunger Games?"

"I haven't exactly had much time to stop and catch up with current affairs," he says dryly.

I'm tempted to spit out something snarky about why that is, which I know is going to get movie night shut down abruptly and awkwardly. But I keep my mouth closed and manifest a blanket for us.

"This thing is giant," he comments, pushing it away.

I shrug. "Big blankets are easy to share."

"I don't need a blanket."

Just because he was rude about it, I gradually make the temperature in the room drop. Slowly, so he doesn't know it was me. By the time Katniss and Peeta are in the train, Sebastian has the other end of the Spiderman blanket pull over his knees. He doesn't say a word.

To my surprise, he doesn't get up and leave halfway. He stays and watches. Once he understands the basic plot, he seems to like the movie. He's completely silent, up until Katniss drops the Tracker Jacker nest over the Careers and Glimmer gets left behind.

He barks out a laugh. "Did she really think he'd come to her rescue? 'Cato!' 'Cato!" He mocks.

"I don't see why she stopped running. I'd be sprinting my ass to the nearest lake if I were her."

"Exactly." He lapses back into silence as Katniss goes into her hallucination.

I stare at him. This is the first time I've met and seen Sebastian. Just being near him makes me jumpy, but that's because of his demon scent. Having it mixed with angel confuses my senses, since I've adapted to the whole _demon scent bad _and _angel scent good _thing. From all I've heard about him, I expected a silver haired menace with fangs and horns, maybe a wide Glasgow smile. While he _does _look dark, and when he smiles the right way, cruel, he's just as beautiful as Jace. More so. The TV casts shadows under his sharp cheekbones, and reflect in his black eyes. His hair is almost white as snow in this light, and his skin, although pale, is smooth and flawless, except for the Marks. When he sits still, he reminds me of a statue. Maybe a marble bust of a demon child, who has yet to destroy his first civilization.

"You're staring at me."

"Just, uh, watching your reaction," I lie.

He looks amused. "Why?"

"I always watch people's reactions to my favorite part of the movie. To see if they react the same way I do."

"Want me to fangirl?" He looks pointedly at the screen, which I realize now has a shot of Katniss and Peeta kissing.

"_One_ of my favorite parts," I correct quickly.

He grins again, dark and mischievous, and doesn't speak again. Somewhere around Foxface's death, I start to drift off. By the time I listen to a canon boom, I'm already asleep.

* * *

I wake up alone and uncomfortable. I never did sleep well on couches. I snap my fingers, willing my body to take me to my room, but it doesn't. My magic doesn't work well when I'm half-asleep. I teleport myself to the hallways with rooms, a simpler request, and bump from wall to wall. Isabelle's room is closed. Jace's room is partially open. Ah, my room.

I collapse on the bed, discarding the Spiderman blanket so I can wrap myself up in my silk black sheets.

* * *

I've always been able to tell when someone is inches away from me. I can do it in my sleep. Which is why, without needing to open my eyes, my hand shoots out and I shove Clary away from my bed, face-first.

"Get out of my room, Fray," I growl, letting my arm fall and dangle over the edge. "It isn't even ten yet."

I must have hit her hard because Clary grabs my wrist in a grip stronger than I've ever known her to have. And when she climbs onto the bed and straddles my waist, my eyes fly open.

Sebastian.

He has both my wrists now, pinned above my head. His dark eyes regard me with curiosity, not anger or amusement. His face is dangerously close to mine, and I find myself unable to work my magic again. It frustrates me, and I want nothing more than to throw him off. But again, nothing seems to work.

"Mind explaining what you're doing in my bed?" he asks, tilting his head. His voice is smooth as the black silk we're lying on. I'm far too aware that my shirt has ridden up to where my skin is flush against his chest; his heat burns my skin like an iron, and I find my cold body welcoming the sensation.

Slowly, I close my eyes and curse myself repeatedly. "Would you believe me if I said it was an honest mistake?"

He chuckles, and I open them. His smile is wicked. "I believed it to be an honest invitation. But sure, if you want to back out, I'll take that."

It takes me a second to realize what he means. My face burns again. "I have the same sheets in my bed. I was half asleep and I thought I was back in the Institute."

"Black silk?" He smiles. "I guess we have similar taste."

I swallow. I feel like a tiny baby lamb peering up at a big white wolf with bloodied teeth. I gently wriggle my wrist against his hand, and he loosens his grip just enough for me to pull my arms free. I sit up, and he climbs off me without a word. The lack of pressure around my hips makes me feel bare.

I fix my shirt and pull my hair over one shoulder, so it doesn't pile around my face like an angry mop. I glance back at him, only to find that he's looking at me. I hurry out of his room and into Clary's.

I run myself a nice, long shower, manifesting the shampoo and soap that I need. I step out, dry my hair quickly, and manifest a white floral dress, since nothing in Clary's closet would fit me. There's a large full-body mirror in the corner, and it pulls me like a magnet. I stand in front of it and frown at my reflection.

My parents had two kids. Me, and my older sister. My older sister is a polite, sweet young girl who went to school, got a degree, got married, and ignored her angel side. She visits us every now and then, and every time I find myself comparing us. She got my Dad's litheness and height, and my mother's bright green eyes, C cups, and beautiful, behaving dark brown hair.

I got my mom's curvy yet slightly rounded frame, my Dad's frightening eyes and unruly black hair, as well as my mother's complexion. I'm not a pale, small beauty like Clary. She has a frame that I'd have to starve into. My frame is one you eat yourself into. I'm not fat, I'm barely chubby. I'm just not skinny. I flatten my palms over my hips, over my thighs that chaff no matter what magic I pull and cup my breasts that are big but about as perky as a mother at her child's funeral.

I see a flicker of movement in the mirror, and that's when I notice Sebastian standing at the doorway. I spin around, startled. "What are you doing?"

He looks like he's trying not to laugh. "I could ask you the same thing."

I realize then that I'm still grabbing my boobs, and quickly drop my hands. "Can't a girl grope herself in peace?" I snap.

"By all means." The amusement in his voice is almost palpable. "But I though we could do something more fun than touching oneself."

_What could be more fun than that? _"Like what?"

"Jace and Clary are gone again, so I decided we could go for another walk. Do something. See things."

How tempting. "No offense, but I thought spending time with me was the last thing on your list."

"Right now, it's the only thing on my list. I'm not leaving you here alone, and I'm not letting you out alone. Jace says he needs the house later, so no bringing 'guests' over."

I have a feeling his guests are more of the sexual type. "So basically, it's either hang with me or die of boredom."

His lips twitch. "Basically. Is that a yes?"

I have nothing witty to say, so I just nod. "Yeah. Let me grab my shoes."

* * *

Venice is such a lovely place. But on the off chance that Jace and Sebastian thought alike and accidentally went to the same place, I didn't want to spoil Clary's date. So I teleported us to Scotland.

Sebastian peers up at the sky, which threatens rain. "I must question your choice of country, Artemis."

"Call me Arta." I tap my dress, deciding that green would look better and wouldn't stain as easily. "And don't question me just yet." Scotland is one of my favorite countries, but that's not why we're here.

He's calm as we walk, but I can sense just how tense he is. He probably thinks I'm leading him to the Clave, or some other sort of ambush. If he does, then he must have some getaway plan or he would have left already. This is about trust, then. Good thing I have nothing up my sleeve.

After half an hour of traveling over rolling hills, we reach the ruins. MacIntosh Castle, collapsed well over a century ago, left to mostly collapsed stone. It's beautiful in its death state, and I can't believe I brought Sebastian of all people here. I haven't even shown my friends this place. But it's the first place that came to mind, and there's no chance of anyone seeing us.

I climb up a row of stone walls. It takes me at least ten feet in the air. I stop at the edge and look out at the grey-blue lake that crashes against the pebbled shoreline. The wind makes my dress ripple and my hair fly forward, so I wave my hand and change its direction, making it flow the other way, pushing my hair out of my face.

"Must be convenient," he comments, coming to stand behind me. "Being able to bend the wind to your will."

I give him a lopsided grin. "When you put it like that, yeah. But other than making my hair look awesome, it doesn't do much."

He drops down a step, to the wall beside me. He takes a long jump, launching himself in the air before touching down on a sliced pillar. I peer up at him. He keeps his hands buried in his black Burberry trench coat, gazing out at the lake with confidence in his every move. The wind whips his pale blond hair back, making him look like something straight out of one of those abstract cologne commercials.

"My father used to own this place," I say finally. He tilts his head, which is the only indication that he's listening. "He dumped it for a villa in Paris. It crumbled after that. My mother was always fond of it, though, and kept the place warded so no human would come across it." I plan on rebuilding it someday and living in it. There is a beautiful forest surrounding the land and absolutely no neighbors for miles. It's beautiful, lonely, and exactly what I need when I vanish.

My parents taught me that once someone knows they have your alliance for good, they'll never stop using you. Eventually, either you vanish, or they use you up completely. That's why I've kept all memory of me to a minimum. If someone isn't close to me, I'll take their memory of me when I leave them. Eventually, I'll have to wipe all memory of myself completely. From Clary, Simon, Magnus, Isabelle, Alec, Jace – everyone.

"You like this better than the villa."

I frown, glancing up at him. He keeps his gaze on the lake. "What makes you say that?" I ask.

"If you liked the villa better, then that's where we'd be." He smiles to himself. "Do you plan on rebuilding this place?"

Damn, he's good. "I might. The view is enchanting."

As if to null my point, thunder rumbles through the earth and sky. I glance up in time to see a brief flash of silent lightening, followed by a giant downpour of rain. I'm soaked almost instantly.

I throw my hands up. "Well fuck you too, Scotland."

Sebastian laughs and drops down to my wall. I turn to him, sheepish. "I haven't really learned how to change the weather."

"Don't worry," he says. "I can fix this."

I frown. "You can?"

"Oh yes." He pulls something from inside his coat. "I am a man of many talents."

And then he opens the umbrella and holds it over us. Rain patters lightly against the black material.

I look up at him, and find myself staring into his eyes. He says nothing as I do. I search for something, maybe a hint of that monster that everyone hated. But all I see now is a bit of mischief and a bit of darkness. Maybe evil is something you have to see in action.

"I'm glad that you find solace in gazing into my eyes," he says wryly. "But we really should look for a cave or something."

I blink. "Right. Good idea." I snap my fingers and we reappear in a cave just off the lake's edge. Sebastian looks momentarily thrown, but regains composure quickly. He shuts the umbrella and tucks it away in his coat.

I frown, tugging the left side of it open. "That's a giant pocket."

He shrugs. "It's a small umbrella."

I let the coat fall closed and wave my hand. A couch appears inside the dark, away from the cave's edge. A few lanterns appear around us, lit with different colors. I take a seat and kick my shoes off.

"I'm curious," he says, sitting beside me. He slides his boots off at the foot of the couch. "With all your power . . . why live in the Institute? You could manifest a manor and live in luxury. Why settle for a small standard room?"

I shrug. I know what he's really asking – with all this power, why haven't I ruled the world yet? "That 'manifest whatever I want' phase burns out pretty quickly. When you can have everything for the price of nothing, then everything means nothing. That when things like people and friends start to mean more. You can't manifest loyalty."

Sebastian says nothing, and that's when I realize that that's basically what he did with Jace. Ah well. He might as well remember that what Jace feels for him isn't real.

I look at him. The expression I see is somewhere between impassiveness and darkness. If you asked me yesterday, I would have told you he was probably thinking about burning down cities or ruining more lives. But now, I don't know. A talent I spent time honing in on was reading people. It's how I got to know everyone at the Institute so quickly – it doesn't take me long to understand people. But Sebastian is different. The demon part of him is evil; it would kick a man just because it wanted to see blood, spit in the face of an angel, and laugh as a city burned at his feet. But there is a human part to him too. The one that feeds on love and gives love back, that needs friendship and happiness to grow. That's the part I find myself desperate to understand. It's so interesting, really. Small and tainted by his demon side, yes, but it's still there.

And when he turns to look at me again, I can see it, tiny as it is. That's when I wonder, briefly, if Sebastian has ever been loved.


	4. Chapter 4

4

"No."

"Aw come on, Sebby," I say. "Don't be boring."

"I'm not being boring. I'm being practical." He swirls his wine once more and sips at it. The red stains his lips, turning it a lush cherry red that stands out against his pale skin. He licks it away. "We can't go to Disneyworld. Too many people. And the lines are eternal."

I groan and fall back, laying my head in his lap. He jerks his wine glass away before I can knock it over. "Get up," he snaps.

"Not unless you give me something to do."

"I can push you off."

I snort. "Yeah, push the powerful angel-girl off your lap. See how that goes."

"Is that a threat?" He doesn't seem irritated.

"Nah. I wouldn't hurt you." I just need to keep you busy so Clary can give Simon a mental update. "Not too badly, anyway."

"Is that so?" He downs the last of his wine and sets it on the table.

"How do you do that?"

He frowns. "What?"

"Drink, like, five glasses of wine a day and still have a mouth full of pearly whites." After a pause, I add. "Jace does the same thing too, but with coffee. Is it a family secret?"

"Maybe." His smile is gone now, and I feel bad that I'm the one who made it go. He and Jace aren't related. Even though that doesn't lessen their "brotherly bond", there's the fact that Sebastian is related to Valentine and Jace isn't. Sebastian's the one with bad blood. Half Morgenstern, and half demon. There isn't much room for humanity, as I keep telling myself.

"I might have something for us to do."

I sit up, trying not to let my excitement show. "Oh?"

He stands up. "I'm not sure about letting you come, but I need a decent fighter with me. And Jace is otherwise occupied."

_With his girlfriend. _I'm glad his love for Clary hasn't wavered under the spell, but I wonder how it must be for her. Being with a Jace that isn't really her Jace. Kissing someone else, hugging someone else? Loving someone else? I couldn't do it. But Clary is a strong girl, stronger than she looks.

"Where are we going?" I wonder out loud as I follow Sebastian.

"You'll see."

He takes us out the door, only instead of stepping into the streets of Venice, we're in a clearing circled by green forest. The ring of sky above is bright grey and hurts to look at, so I keep my gaze on Sebastian.

"Wait here," he says. And then he walks away and vanishes.

I rock back on my heels. Is this a test? He said he needed a decent fighter. Maybe he's going to spring an animal on me, or a small army. Or maybe he's just going to leave me here as a joke.

_Clary?_ I call.

_What? _Her reply is quick, to my surprise. She must be alone.

_Any news from Simon? _

She sighs. _Not really. They're about as close to finding a way to separate them as we are. By the way, where are you? Your voice is faint._

The farther away we are from each other, the quieter our mental chats are. _I'm in a forest, waiting for Sebastian._

She makes a sound of disapproval. _You two are getting a little close, Arta._

_You're not insinuating what I think you're insinuating, are you?_

_Is there anything to insinuate?_

_Of course not! _I'm insulted she'd even ask. _In case you haven't noticed, I'm just doing the same thing with Sebastian that you are, and that's getting information._

_For your sake, I hope it stays that way. I don't think he's the kind of boyfriend your father would want to meet._

I grin. _Are you kidding? Dad would love him. _

_Never introduce me to your dad. Now I gotta go, Jace is back._

Then she's gone, and it's just me.

Suddenly, my body is yanked back against a hard, solid chest. An arm binds around my waist, cold denim kissing my skin. The other wraps around my upper body, holding something to my throat.

"Gotcha," Sebastian whispers in my ear.

Instinctively, I lurch forward, but he keeps an iron grip on me. I can feel every thump of his heart, even and steady. Mine is racing out of control, hammering against his arm. Can he hear it? He must, because he chuckles and loosens his grip just a bit.

"Is this a test?" I gasp, trying to stifle my fear.

"Of sorts. I want to see what you can do." He tightens his grip again. "Since you're terrible at noticing when someone's behind you, we'll start there. Get free."

I frown. "Like, now?"

"Nah. We'll just stand like this until tomorrow."

I frown. I don't really have much training with getting someone off me from behind, since that actually never happens. Sebastian is the only person I've ever met who can sneak up on me. There's only one method I know, that my mom taught me, and I really don't want to use it. "Sebastian –"

"I'm waiting, Angel-girl."

I let out a sigh, which is a little ragged from my embarrassment. "I warned you."

I rear my head back and slam it into his chin. The moment his grip loosens again, I duck down and grab his gonads. He makes a sound, something between a growl and a shout of surprise, and when he hunches over I twist around and slam my knee into his face.

He stumbles back, keeping one hand out in front of him. His seraph blade is bared, and pointed at me. "The hell was that?" he barks.

I smile sheepishly. When I fight, my magic pours enough strength into me to match five or six grown men. Sebastian is strong, but I doubt he was expecting so much force. "Er, sorry."

"Sorry about kneeing my face or grabbing my –"

"Both," I say quickly.

He makes another sound, but he doesn't look as angry as before. In fact, he looks amused. "If I were a demon, I would have killed you before you could have moved your arm. If I had known you were that strong, you wouldn't have gotten that far."

I give him a cheeky smile. "Oops."

"Oops doesn't cover it. I'm going to fight you head on now, and if I'm not impressed, you're going back inside. Got it?"

I frown. I remember what Jace told me about fighting Sebastian. Jace is one of the best Shadowhunters I know, and Sebastian almost killed him. If he can't match this boy, then how can I?

I grit my teeth. Wherever Sebastian is going, it must be important if it requires me knowing how to defend myself. It might give me a hint as to what his plans are, or maybe even how to separate him and Jace. If that's the case, then I have to impress him.

I smile. "Are we using weapons?"

He smiles back. "Sure. Why not?"

His seraph blade glows with heavenly light. A part of me basks in its glow.

I grin and hold my hand back. My black battle axe pieces together in my palm and I point it at the demon boy. It glows similarly, not with the light of the angels but from the light in myself. It's stronger than any seraph blade, and when I swing it, it sends a sharp ringing sound through the air.

Sebastian meets it head on.

* * *

Turns out my axe was a little stronger than I expected. After shattering three seraph blades, we decided as long as I had that in my hands, I'd be fine. So we moved from using normal weapons, which I was also awesome with, to hand to hand combat, which I wasn't that awesome at.

Both of us are panting and sweaty. I don't think I've ever met anyone who can keep up with my stamina. While I mainly rely on my strength and my power, Sebastian is all lithe and grace. He's faster than I am, and fights as if he's caught a glimpse of the future and knows what I will do. We knock over trees and tear body-sized divots into the ground. Our bodies collide, intertwine, and slam into and against one another. With the rain making our bodies slicker, it's harder to keep a grip on one another. The moment one of us pulls out for even a second, the other is there, beckoning them back into the fight.

"Use your wrist, Arta," he growls, drawing me closer, grabbing my wrist for emphasis. "Put it _here,_ and do what I showed you with the other arm." He pushes my hand against his chest, over his heart, which hammers against my palm. I start to do what he orders, but I'm not fast enough. He catches me, twists me around, my back to his chest. His lips are at my ear again, this time grazing my earlobe. "Faster," he breathes.

I twist around and repeat, and this time Sebastian goes stumbling back. Before he can get back up, I pin him down, my knees on his shoulders, hands on his wrists, which are bigger than my hand can wrap around.

"I win," I say finally. I smile wide, and tilt my head to the sky. Rain kisses my face and runs down my cheeks like tears. I look down at Sebastian, who's also breathing heavily. Droplets fall from my hair and kiss his closed eyelids, his cheeks, and his lips, which are turned up in a faint smile.

"Am I dead?"

I frown. "If you are, then you're doing a terrible job of it."

"If the opponent isn't dead," he says slowly. "Then you haven't won."

His eyes fly open then; black, hungry pits that swallow me up as he flips me over and slams me into the ground. His knees rest on either side of my hips, tight enough so I can't move my legs. He towers above me, and for a moment I remember the way the angel Raziel towered above Lake Lyn, all shadows and blindingly white eyes. Sebastian stretches forward slowly, like a cat, and rests a hand on either side of my head. His face is directly above mine, and I wait for him to do something. But he only watches me, and I get the feeling this isn't just about him pausing to catch his breath. Is there something I'm missing? Droplets fall from his face onto my own. One particular drop traces the curve of his upper lip, then falls onto my lower. Without realizing it, my tongue darts out to lick it.

He grins then, dark and wolfish, and I have a feeling he's sharing some sort of inside joke with himself. "_I _win," he says softly.

I sigh. "Did I at least pass your test?"

"Oh yes." He reaches out then, and brushes away a stray droplet from my lower lip. Before I can say anything, he's on his feet, twirling one of his blade in his right hand. He grins, as if nothing had happened. "Come on, Angel-girl. We don't want to be late."


	5. Chapter 5

5

We weren't in Venice anymore. From what I could tell, I think we're in India. I've been here twice before, but only to Bombay. We're in Kerala, making our way down a somewhat quiet dirt road. We pass small shops that sell varieties of candies and trinkets. I see the occasional dog pass by, but Sebastian warns me not to touch them. "They're strays," he explains. "They might be sick."

As we pass more people, I can't help but notice how pale Sebastian is. His marks almost blend in with his skin, like silver on white paper. It's almost funny, how badly he needs a tan. I turn my gaze to the torn and faded posters hanging all around the shops. My gaze rests on one of a woman in a black sari, and I find myself wishing I had one.

Wish granted. I snap my fingers, and my dress changes to match what she's wearing. It looks nice with my complexion.

He glances at me. "You know that isn't exactly casual clothing?"

I glance down at myself. "Is it not?"

"The women were _churidars_." The pronunciation flows off his tongue smoothly. "That's casual. This is like wearing a prom dress to go shopping."

After seeing a few other women passing by, I change to match their style. I pick a blue _churidar_, and twist the ends of the sari (the scarf-like piece) around my fingers. "Like it?"

He shrugs. "Blue suits you."

"Want me to help you blend in too? Make you look less tourist-y?"

"Ah, no thanks," he says, glancing at the attire the men are wearing. At first I thought they were blankets wrapped around their waist, but Sebastian explained to me that they were called _mundus_, and helped with the heat. "Besides, I think my skin is a dead giveaway."

"So what exactly are we doing here?" I ask, smiling.

He seems to be debating whether or not he should tell me. "I have a meeting with someone."

"Someone you don't trust."

His lips twitch. "What gave me away?"

I shrug. "Why else would you make sure I knew how to defend myself?"

He lapses into silence after that. After some more walking, we reach the busier parts of town and take an auto the rest of the way. The driver chats pleasantly with Sebastian in a language I can't understand, one that he seems to know fluently. Clary mentioned Sebastian knew a lot of languages. She wasn't kidding.

After at least an hour of bumpy travel, we leave the busy city and enter what looks like private land swathed in jungle. We stop at a tall gate, and Sebastian hands the driver a few rupees.

"_Thankalku pakam,_" he says before we leave. The auto speeds off behind us, and soon there's no other sound except for the night bugs.

The gates aren't locked – he pushes them open and walks in first, with me behind. Black dust swirls in my fingers, ready to materialize into my axe at any moment.

The inside of the house is dark, lit only by a few gas lamps. I don't see anyone inside, which makes me nervous. But Sebastian seems at ease, and we wait at the steps for someone to come open the door, which honestly just looks like another gate.

We don't have to wait long. A woman appears, wearing what looks like a hijab over her _churidar. _The blend looks strange, but I have a feeling she's wearing it more for the cover than for the intended only thing I can see are her eyes, which are lined thickly with mascara. They make the green of her catlike irises stand out even more. I think of Magnus briefly, and that's when I realize why her scent is somewhat familiar.

She's a warlock.

"Sandhya," he says.

Her eyes brighten slightly, and she pulls the first layer of her headpiece away to reveal her face. My eyes strip away the glamour immediately, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to gasp. Her face looks as if a tiger sank its claws into her and tried to tear her skin apart. Line after line of scar wraps from her forehead down to her chin. She can't be any older than we are – what happened to her?

She smiles at Sebastian, stretching a scar on her lips. It's a cruel smile, and it makes me shiver. But he just meets it with one of his own.

"You're here for Barbatos?" Her accent is light, but still there. Her voice is curt and soft, but it still manages to be hard.

He nods.

She smiles again, this one just as cold as the last, and motions for us to follow. This time, Sebastian keeps me in the lead while I follow close behind.

_Who's Barbatos?_

If my voice in his head bothered him, it doesn't show. _He's a Greater Demon, and Sandhya's father. _

A chill runs down my spine. Why are we here to meet a Greater Demon? I turn to Sebastian, feeling a sting. Why did he bring me along? I thought he didn't trust me. I want to ask him all that, but all I can say is, _Oh._

_You never mentioned you could speak telepathically. _He seems amused, but there's an edge to his voice.

_I'm not very good at it. I can only speak to people if they're within five feet of me. _I try to sound as casual as I can, as if that's actually the truth. If Sebastian thinks I can speak via mind over long ranges of land, then he'll probably assume I can speak to the Clave. Hell, speaking to him now probably put that idea in his head already. But I didn't want Sandhya listening to our conversation. _Sebastian?_

_Mmmm?_

_Why are we here? _

_I have a few questions for him, that's all. _

_No. I mean, why are we meeting with a Greater Demon? _

The silence lasts longer this time. _I'm not allying with them. I would never do that. But that's what they think, and it needs to stay that way. I'll explain everything later._

I frown. I can't tell if he's lying to me or not – he's too good at it. So I sigh. _So what are you gonna ask him?_

_Barbatos is an earl and duke in Hell. He can also tell the future._

Something sick rolls through me. I don't want to know the future, not now when things hang in such a delicate balance. Good and evil are neck and neck. _That's something._

He doesn't respond, and I realize why. Sandhya has stopped in front of a doorway covered by dangling beads of black and red glass. She steps aside, indicating we go ahead of her. Sebastian goes first, and I follow.

The door leads to the backyard. It's mostly various rock structures, like statues and platforms, with a brown pebbled ground. Beyond the walls is a massive jungle, one that looks even more menacing at night. At the center of the garden is a circular stone patio wrapped in a glass dome. There are no doors, and as far as I can see there's nothing but simple wooden chairs inside.

"Look harder," he whispers to me.

I squint. I've never had to put effort into peeling away glamour, which is why it takes me a bit of time to finally see the old demon sitting in the reclined wooden seat. His gaze is fixed at the top of the dome, as if he's watching angels scamper about in the heavens. But his eyes are solid white, with no pupils. Is he blind?

"Barbatos," Sebastian calls, standing an inch away from the patio.

Slowly, the demon smiles. It's similar to his daughter's in the sense that it takes up too much space on his face, and makes me skittish. I dig my feet into the pebbles, scratching the dirt.

"_Enter,_" he breathes. His voice is as old as it is deep.

A small bead of light shimmers at the base of the dome, and carves its way upward in a smooth, sharp arc. When it fades, there's an outline of a door, with no handle. Sebastian pushes on it, then jerks his hand back with a hiss. There are burn marks on it, as if he just touched a hot stove.

"_Not you, Jonathan Morgenstern_."

He looks sharply down at me, accusation in his eyes. I feel guilty, despite the fact that it isn't my fault.

_What do you want me to ask? _I ask.

His mouth settles into a flat, emotionless line. But there is a black fire in his eyes when he speaks. _Ask him . . . ask him if I will be successful. In my efforts._

I smile, just slightly. _Isn't that the big question?_

Then I push the door open without a burn and step inside the demon's dome.


	6. Chapter 6

6

The moment the door closes behind me, the outline vanishes and I'm sealed inside. I crush my fear under my shoes and take a seat in front of the demon. I've killed a Greater Demon before. I can do it again if I have to. But I doubt Barbatos brought me in here to hurt me.

I look over at the him. He's old, that's easy to tell. He keeps a tight hold on his human glamour, but I can see strips of his true form. His skin is black beneath the pale white. His beard is a darker shade of gray than it is now, and the wrinkles around his eyes are more pronounced. He's ancient. Ancient demons are always bad news – they don't last this long for nothing.

"_You're a long way from home, angel witch._"

I fold my hands over my lap. "Why do you want me? Sebastian is the one who came to meet you."

"_Jonathan isn't any different from the others who have visited me over the centuries. He wants to know if his plans will be successful, if he will indeed have the world reformed anew at his feet._"

His words give me a bad feeling. I want to ask him what exactly _are _Sebastian's plans, but he's standing right outside. And I can practically feel his eyes boring holes into my skull. Is he mad? The last thing I want to deal with is an angry Sebastian.

Barbatos sighs. "_He can't hear us, child._"

I let out a breath of relief. "Okay. So what are his plans?"

The demon grins. There is no glamour for his teeth, which are black and spiked like needles. "_That isn't my place to tell. But I will tell you this – his words aren't entirely without truth. And he will tell you many things, angel witch. It's up to you to figure out what is fact and what is fallacy._"

I turn to look at him, but to my surprise, he isn't there. Maybe Sandhya took him somewhere. Or maybe he left. I turn back to the demon. "I'm not very good at telling those kinds of things apart, to be honest."

His grin fades. "_You'll learn._"

There's a promise in his voice, one that sends dark chills down my back. "I hope so."

"_In time, you'll wish otherwise._"

Well that's great. "Are you saying he's going to turn out to be an evil douchebag? Because that wouldn't really be a surprise."

"_He can't become what he already is._"

I can't help it – I bark out a laugh. I don't know if he meant that to be funny. "But is that what you're saying? That I'll start trusting him and he'll betray me in the end?" I don't think I could ever really trust Sebastian, but I have a bad habit of trusting everybody.

"_Careful child. I will only answer one question. Are your sure that's the one you want to ask?_"

I hesitate. "Any question?"

"_Yes._"

I think. Of course there are those general questions – how will I die? Will I fall in love? Will I win the lottery? What's the meaning of the universe? But then there are other ones, ones I should ask. Is there a way to save Jace? What is Sebastian _really_ planning? Which one of my friends will die for it? Will he be successful? The longer the silence stretches, the more questions swirl in my head, pushing me down, demanding to be voices until –

"Is Sebastian evil?" I blurt.

"_That's a terrible question. Ask something else._"

I swallow. "No. That's . . . that's the one. Is he evil? Truly, irrevocably, evil? The kind of evil that can't be saved?"

Slowly, the demon smiles. It's the smile of someone who knows that somebody is at their mercy, and they love it. He scratches his beard very deliberately, then taps his fingers against the arms of his chair. "_The Morgenstern child is evil. He has ended countless lives, and will continue to end more._

"But . . .?" There's more to it, I know by the way he said it. Plenty of people murder, though that will never justify what Sebastian did.

_He is not the evil that cannot be saved. He is the evil that needs to be saved._"

My brows crease in confusion. "What?"

"_Sorry to answer your question with a riddle, but I find straight answers to be boring. Now go._"

The door outline reappears, and the demon settles back in his chair and turns his gaze back to the roof of the dome, as if I don't exist anymore. I take that as my cue to leave, and cross the room and gently ease the door open.

"_Oh, and angel-witch._"

I tilt my head up.

"_The boy has never been loved before. Don't be surprised when what comes, comes._"

I hear him chuckle, and I slam the door shut so hard cracks spiral through the glass. But they smooth over and heal almost immediately, like wounds on a werewolf.

* * *

Sebastian is chatting with Sandhya when I walk in. They both laugh at something, then pause when she notices me standing in the doorway. At her gaze, Sebastian sits up and glances over his shoulder. Something flashes in his eyes when he sees me, and I can't tell what it is. Anger? Relief?

"Um, hey," I say meekly, coming to stand beside him.

He stands up. "What did he say? Yes or no?"

"Can we talk somewhere else?" I need a chance to come up with a good enough lie, or decide how much of what we talked about I can actually tell him.

He nods. "Of course."

He says goodbye to Sandhya, who flashes him a flirty smile in return. I glance over my shoulder at her, not sure if I should say anything. She pulls the material back over her mouth, but her eyes tell me all I need to know. She doesn't like me either.

"I –"

"Have you ever been on a boat?"

I pause, startled. "I – what?"

"A boat," he says patiently. "Have you ever been on one?"

"Once." When I traveled from London to America for the first time. After I learned how to teleport, I stopped using human transportation methods.

He flashes a grin, lazy and sweet. "Good."

* * *

And that's how I find myself, an hour later, on a large wooden boat traveling down the backwaters of Kerala. At night, in the light of the full moon, the view is beautiful. The river is littered with floating flowers that part as our boat glides through them. Instead of having a man row us, I spelled the boat to take us where we want to go.

I rest my elbow on the edge of the boat and peer out at the black river. Sebastian sits at the other end, his gaze on me.

"So," he says. "What did he say?"

My heart starts to pound, despite the fact that I've lied a million times before with no trouble. I feel like Sebastian will see right through it. "I didn't . . . I didn't get to ask your question."

His eyes narrow. "Why not?"

"He didn't want to answer it. He said it was the sort of questions he got often. That's why he didn't . . . let you in." I don't want to sound too harsh, but there's not really any other way to word it. "I'm sorry."

I wait for him to explode, to yell at me for not pushing. I think of the stories I've heard about him, and suddenly black dust starts shimmering in my palm. Will he kill me? He's done worse for less.

But he just shrugs and says "Oh well."

I frown. "'Oh well'?"

"Oh well."

"Aren't you mad? Aren't you going to yell at me?"

His lips twitch, just barely. "I _am _slightly pissed, yes, but I'm not going to yell at you. It's not your fault. Barbatos isn't the only demon who can predict the future. But I guess that isn't really important." He looks at me again, and his eyes are a smooth, rich black, like the silk sheets of his room. His voice is soft when he speaks. "What did you ask him?"

There's no way I can tell him that. Mainly because it's embarrassing, and if he hears the answer, he really might blow up. _I'm not evil, _he'll snarl. _I don't need saving. _

"I asked how many of my friends are going to die."

He looks amused. "Isn't the answer 'all of them'?"

I shrug. "I meant young. As in, within the next two years or so."

"And what was the answer?" His interest annoys me. Of course he'd want to know if he'd be able to get my friends out of the way. They're all his enemies, aren't they?

I shake my head. "That's between me and the demon."

"What about you?" he asks. "Why didn't you ask when_ you'd_ die?"

I snort. "I'm not going to die."

He actually looks surprised. "Confident, are we?"

I smile, but it's humorless. "Nothing can kill me, Sebastian."

"Anything that breathes can be killed."

I shrug. "I mean, there is a way. But there are certain conditions that have to be met and, well, at this rate, they won't be met anytime soon." I laugh.

"So without those conditions, nothing can kill you? Not weapons of heaven or hell?" Something in his voice makes my smile fade.

I shake my head. "Trying to figure out how to do me in?" I tease.

He ignores that. "What exactly are the conditions?"

I smile dryly. "You'll forgive me if I don't elaborate. But I'll tell you this – they'll eventually be met, no matter how old you become. Unless you're cold enough."

He smiles them. "That shouldn't be a problem. And it's not because I want to figure out how to kill you, angel-girl. I wouldn't do that."

I tilt my head. "Why not?"

"I try not to kill people I like." His voice betrays nothing, but it's then I understand why he wants to know so much about the terms of my immortality.

"You want to be my kind of immortal?" I ask, surprised.

His smile is innocent, but his eyes are hungry. "Yes."

I smirk. "Sorry, demon-boy. But that's something that depends entirely on your parents."

"Why?"

"It's part of being mostly-angel," I say simply. "My mother's parents were direct offspring of angels and humans. My father's father was an angel. My blood is almost completely angel, and that's why I can do what I do."

He seems at a loss, then. "So you really are an angel girl."

I shrug. "Not entirely."

He tilts his head back to the sky then, and drapes one arm over the edge of the boat. His finger graze the edge of a floating flower, and he pulls it into his hand. "I guess you know _my _lineage." He crushes the flower in his palm and washes his hand in the river.

I don't say anything. His father was Valentine, a monster. As for his mother, well, while Jocelyn may be in his features, Lilith is in his blood. Sebastian is half demon, and half Nephilim. Half demon, half angel. Not the same strength of angel as my father, but still angel. It isn't as strong as his demon half, though. When I look at Sebastian, I can't see much angel in him.

But that doesn't mean I don't see any at all.

"I don't think that has to matter," I say nonchalantly. I poke one of the million flowers floating by us.

"What?" The quiet confusion in his tone makes me smile.

"I think it's more a matter of _you._ I could have used my powers for bad – it would have been easy, too. I could have slaughtered millions and taken the world."

"But you're an angel," he says raggedly. "Angels don't do that."

I stroke the petal of another flower. "It's what my parents did."

He doesn't say anything, so I continue. "My mother and father met a long time ago. At first they used their powers for good. But my father wanted to become stronger, so he started dabbling in dark magic. My mother did the same, so they could stay together. My parents can't even count how many people they've killed just because they felt like it. But they didn't take over the world or anything like that."

"What did they do?"

I push the flower away. "They fell in love, got married. They met good people, became better people, and had me. There's always a turning point. Anyone can come back."

"Anyone?" he says quietly.

I nod, but I don't say anything.

"It's not – people don't forget." He's angry now. "You do things like that, and people never forget. You kill someone, and their family hates you forever. You kill a child and – " He breaks off.

My finger has frozen over the water, and my lips move without me realizing. "You mean Max."

He's silent as ever, and for a moment I don't think he has any way to justify himself. Good. I hope he feels bad for what he did. Max didn't –

"I didn't mean to hit him that hard."

My nail tears through a petal. "Tell that to his family."

"Ah, see?" His voice is wry. "You knew him."

"I did," I say quietly. "He was my friend."

"And I took him from you." There's a smile in his voice, but it's bitter. "Do you hate me, Arta?"

"Isabelle does. Alec does. They all do." _I did. I hated you. I made a bet with Isabelle that I'd kill you first._ I keep that to myself and sigh. "If what you said is true, then I can forgive. It's what good people do. They . . . they forgive."

"And what if it wasn't?"

I let my hand dangle in the water. "Then that's your cross to bear. I can't scold you for his murder when I justify all of my parents'. So I'll leave it at that. If you can forgive yourself, then maybe I can too."

It's silent then. I listen to the boat creak and rock through the water, which sighs and trickles. Even here, the night bugs sing. I close my eyes and listen to them.

"Forgive me," he whispers.

My eyes open. "I'll try."

"And for Alincante? Can you forgive me for that, too?"

His words startle me. They're so delicate, as if a harsh rebuke will shatter them and him along with it. It isn't my place to forgive him about what he did in Alincante, for all those people he killed and for all the families he broke. But maybe he's also asking, along with me, everyone else. As if my yes will relieve him of all the guilt.

It shouldn't. "I have nothing to forgive. I lost no one in Alincante's fall. If you really are sorry . . . then that should be enough." For me. Maybe not for the people who suffered because of him.

It's silent again, and for a moment I assume he fell asleep. But then I hear it, so soft I almost miss it.

"Thank you."


	7. Chapter 7

7

"Do I _have _to come?"

"Of course," Sebastian says. "What am I going to do without you to protect me?"

He's joking of course – Sebastian is fully capable of protecting himself. But lately, for most of these demon meetings, he's been bringing me along. He told me about his plans, about the Clave's ignorance of the frequent demon appearances and what he's going to do about it, and that he has to gain the Greater Demons' trust so he can destroy them later. I want to believe him, but Barbatos's words have never once left me.

Jace walks into the living room with Clary right behind him. I lean against Sebastian, trying not to look suspicious.

She frowns. "How come Arta gets to go? I wanna come."

"You're staying home," Sebastian says. "Jace and I have an errand to do here. We should probably get going soon, in fact."

Clary crosses her arms over her chest. "Is this some bonding thing I can't be a part of? Are you getting matching haircuts?"

I stretch up on my toes and rest my elbows on his shoulders. Sometimes he'll push me off, but other times he'll leave me be. That's when I know I can push him a little further. His shoulders tense, but he doesn't do anything.

"Maybe she should come," Jace says. "I mean, this particular errand – it's not dangerous."

I can't see Sebastian's face from my position, but I know he's probably glaring at his brother impassively. "Anything can turn dangerous."

"Well, it's your decision," Jace shrugs. He reaches for a strawberry on the kitchen counter and pops it in his mouth, then licks the juice from his fingers.

I glance at Clary. I don't have to ask her to know that Jace shrugging and going along with someone's plan bothers her more than she's showing. It goes against the very fabric of his personality, but I guess having all free will taken away can do that to you.

This close, I can smell the cologne on him. It's similar to the one that was all over Clary, meaning it was probably Jace's. It smells better on him, mixed with that darkness he always seems to carry. I breath it in deep as I briefly stroke the curve of his shoulder with my pinkie. It looks like a playful move, but his shoulders relax and the barest of shivers runs down his spine. It's a weak spot, something I noticed on him awhile ago.

"I'm going to get my stuff," Jace says, and grabs another berry before leaving. Clary watches him go. I let go of Sebastian and stand by Clary, trying to think up some way to convince him to let her come along.

"You didn't eat your eggs," he says absentmindedly.

I frown. My plate is empty, so he must be talking to Clary. I cross my arms over my chest.

"I don't actually like eggs," she confesses.

"But you didn't want to tell Jace that, because he seemed so pleased to be making you breakfast."

Clary says nothing. Sebastian's gaze flits to me. "Funny isn't it?" he says. "The lies good people tell. He'll probably make you eggs every day for the rest of your life now, and you'll choke them down because you can't tell him you don't like them."

He's talking to Clary, I know that, but he's looking straight at me as if he expects _me _to answer. So I do. "Love makes liars –"

"Of us all," Clary finishes.

He smirks just slightly, and his gazes turns back to his sister. He steps towards her and unbuttons his shirt.

I briefly remember what Clary said about him kissing her while knowing they were brother and sister, and I feel a small wave of nausea roll through me. And something else, that makes me want to shove him away from her.

"What are you doing?" she demands, alarmed.

"Easy there, little sis." He pops open the last button, letting his shirt gape open over his muscular chest, scarred with marks that almost blend into his skin. He smiles lazily. "You're the magical rune girl, aren't you?"

She nods slowly. Her hands are behind her back, shaking very slightly. She hates Sebastian with every fiber of her being – having him this close must bother her.

"I want a strength rune," he says. "And if you're the best, I want it from you. You wouldn't deny your big brother a rune, would you?" His eyes rake over her frame, taking in every tremble. He knows she's afraid, and it delights him. He's been like this lately; the Sebastian I talked to on the boat doesn't show his face in front of Jace and Clary.

Right when it seems like she's going to say no, he adds "You want me to give you a chance, remember?"

"And you want me to give _you _a chance," she says, lifting her chin. "So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a strength rune if you let me come with you on your errand."

I silently cheer for her. He smiles, and tears his shirt off in one swift move, dropping it lightly on the coffee table. "Deal."

"I don't have a stele." She takes a slight step back. I sit beside his discarded shirt and watch them. He's bigger than she is, and seems to swallow up all the space around her. Clary cringes, as if he's doing it on purpose, to make her feel as small as possible.

"Use mine." He pulls a stele from his belt and twirls it to face her in one delicate move. I could never do that; my clumsy hands are more or less for moving mountains.

"All right," she says. "Turn around."

He does. A small gasp escapes me, though Clary is quiet. His bare back is striped with ragged scars, one after the other, too even to be a random accident. They're whip marks. And for them to not have healed yet, something painful must have been used to keep them fresh. My fists clench.

"Who did this to you?" Clary asks before I can.

"Who do you think? Our father." His voice betrays nothing. "He used a whip made of demon metal, so no _iratze_ could heal them. They're meant to remind me."

"Remind you of what?"

"The perils of obedience."

Clary reaches out and touches one. I want to do the same, but Sebastian is looking at me now, as if he expects me to get up and touch him with pity. I stay where I am and glance down at my nails, as if his sad backstory is boring to me. When in reality, it makes me feel even more sorry for him. But he wouldn't want to know that.

"Don't you mean disobedience?" she asks.

"I meant what I said."

"Do they hurt?"

"All the time." Impatiently, he turns away from me and glances back at her. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," she says. She puts the tip of the stele to his shoulder blade. Her hand is still shaking, and I wonder if she's thinking about giving him a bad rune, something that could kill him. I feel my hand move out on its own accord, steadying her hand with a touch of silent magic. She draws the mark on the juncture of his shoulder blade and back, just where, if he was an angel, he would have wings.

He turns and takes the stele from her, sliding it back in his belt. He shrugs his shirt back on and grins. "You _are_ good."

Jace returns, wearing a suede jacket. His weapons dangle from his belt, and his fingerless dark gloves inspire me. I snap my fingers, trading my jeans and t-shirt for a blood-red dress and elbow-length fishnet gloves. Black ankle length boots with bows on the tips settle on my feet. Isabelle would be proud of my outfit.

"You sure you want to do this?" Jace asks Clary.

"Absolutely. I'm going stir-crazy in this house. Besides, you taught me how to fight. I figure you'd want me to put my skills to use."

They share a grin.

Sebastian glances at me. "And you, Angel?" He's been calling me that ever since the boat ride. It's meant to tease me, but I'm kind of fond of the nickname. "Are you sure you want to come?"

"Oh don't be dramatic." I manifest my giant black battle axe and sling it over my shoulder with a crooked grin. "Now tell me I look good."

He grins, eyes raking over my frame. "You look _ravishing_." There's a touch of sarcasm in his voice, but I ignore it and follow Jace and Clary out the door. Sebastian wraps an arm around my waist, drawing me to his side as we flash out of the house and into the night.

* * *

The wind whips my hair back as we walk. We're still in Venice. Jace and Sebastian stay ahead of us and talk softly. Clary is silent beside me, but that's only because our conversation isn't verbal.

_Too bad I wasn't there, _I think. _I probably could have convinced him to be generous without a price._

Clary frowns. _You know Azazael personally? _

_Yeah. My sister married a High Demon, so most of them know me. _It was probably how Barbatos knew me.

The streets are lined with tourist shops selling trinkets of red and gold. Even this late, the streets are still overflowing with people. Eventually the crowds melt into the wide expanse of a medieval square, with the occasional pedestrian. There are kiosks selling sausages and hot, spiced cider. We stop there for food and eat around a tall, rickety table bathed in shadow. I can see Jace's eyes blazing beside Clary. They really are a startling shade of gold.

The giant astronomical clock chimes the hour, and I listen to it echo. I used to live in a clock tower, after watching Hugo and deciding that Big Ben would make a nice home for a bit. Every hour I'd listen to the bells chime, and I found it relaxing. Though it did give me a headache after awhile.

I glance up at the clock. A circle of dancing wooden figures appear from doors on either side of the clock. "The twelve apostles," I comment, sipping my cider.

"Do you know the legend?"

I glance at Sebastian. In the dark, I can barely see his eyes. But his hair stands out, like a halo. Not golden like Jace's, but white, like that of an angel who's light went out long ago. "No."

"Well, there's a legend." He leans forward, his elbow brushing against mine. He doesn't move it. He tells the story about a king who had the eyes of a clock master put out after he built the tower, so he could never create anything beautiful ever again.

"That's sadistic," Clary says.

"It's poetic," I mumble into my cider.

Sebastian shrugs. "The past is another country."

"Foreign country," says Jace.

My hands pause on my mug. Clary is staring at Jace, and my eyes flit to Sebastian. He regards Jace with half-lidded eyes. "What?"

"'The past is a foreign country: they do things different there,'" Jace says. "That's the whole quote."

Sebastian shrugs and pushes his mug away. I can't tell if what Jace said bothered him or not. "Let's go."

I take my mug with me, but on second thought I leave a replica to reimburse the stand. I sip as I walk. Jace corrected Sebastian. It was something small, yeah, but wasn't all of his free will supposed to be gone? Submissive Jace wouldn't have said anything. But now that he has . . . is Sebastian's control slipping? Or maybe Jace's will is that strong.

I smile, and hide it with another sip.

We walk a bit further. The streets are so narrow we have to walk in a line. I stand behind Sebastian, who, in the moonlight, looks like an utterly black statue blending in with the cobblestone road. I can't tell where the shadows end and he starts.

Finally, we reach a small square full of closed stores. One is light, though, and that's where we go. ANTIKVARIAT, it reads in gold letters. The windows are full of strange items that remind me of a few magic shops I visited with my mother. The items here are of the demonic sort, not for angel magic like my family mostly practices.

I glance up at Sebastian. Should I really be surprised?

He moves through the shelves as if he's been here a thousand times before. I follow closely, while Clary hangs behind with Jace.

"If you needed to perform any magic, you could always just ask me," I say quietly.

He looks at me then, and there's something in his eyes. His voice is gentle when he speaks. "I know. But I'm not here for spells."

That's when I notice the man behind the counter. It takes me about two seconds to peel away the glamour. A demon – an ugly one, by the looks of it. I'm not as educated on names and weaknesses as everyone else is, so I ask Clary what he is.

_I don't know. To be honest, I thought he was a mannequin at first._

I have to bite my lip to keep my laugh in. _This is the girl who can create runes from nothing by the blood of the Angel. I'm so proud._

_Oh shut up. _

"He's a Vetis demon," Jace says, as if he heard our mental chat. "They're like dragons. They like to stockpile sparkly things."

I glance around at the hoard of treasure. That explains it.

The Vetis demon says something in Czech, about us I assume. Sebastian looks over his shoulder at us. "They're my brother and sister."

"Not me," I say. "I'm his girlfriend."

He raises an eyebrow, and I shrug. Obviously I'm not family, and I can't just say I'm a guard – I have to have an intimate position or else the demon will wonder why I'm here. It can probably already tell how powerful I am.

"They are entirely to be trusted," he says.

The demon isn't happy. Sebastian reasons with it, and I glance at Clary. She doesn't seem frightened at all, to my surprise. Neither does Jace. I need to step up my game.

I mostly ignore their conversation, up until Clary says something that snaps me out of my haze.

"Fine," she says. "You want a snip of my hair –"

"No!" I bark. "He's a dark magician, Clary. With a lock of hair or a bit of blood, you don't know what he can do."

The demon looks at me, and it smiles slowly. "You're worth more than she is, angel. A bit of blood from you would go a long way." His eyes glitter with hunger.

"As if I'd give my blood to _you_," I say with a sneer. My blood is the blood of angels, and just a drop is worth far more than a favor from this loser. I know that sounds egotistical, but it's true. My mother raised me to always be aware of my own worth. It's probably one of the reasons my ego is as big as it is.

"Mirek," Sebastian says slowly. His voice is calm, but there's something riding the undercurrents. I glance at his hand, surprised it isn't already at his seraph blade. "Absolutely not."

The demon licks its lips. "Absolutely not?"

"You will not touch a hair on my girlfriend's head. Nor will you harm my sister. Nor will you renege on our bargain. No one cheats Valentine Morgenstern's son."

"Or what?" Mirek snarls. "You are not Valentine, little boy. Now _that_ was a man who inspired loyalty –"

"No," says Sebastian, drawing his seraph blade. There is a blackness in his eyes, one that threatens to spring at Mirek with taloned claws and tear him to ribbons. I can see the boy that everyone is afraid of, and I find myself impressed. "I am not Valentine. I do not intend to deal with demons as Valentine did. If I cannot have your loyalty, I will have your fear. Know that I am more powerful than my father ever was, and if you do not deal fairly with me, I will take your life, and have what I came for." He raises his blade. "_Dumah,_" he whispers, and the blade roars like a column of fire.

The demon recoils at heaven's light, snapping several words in its language, and I grab my axe. Jace yells to Clary, but none of us are fast enough. I watch as a centipede-like demon strikes her shoulder, knocking her forward. She flips into her back and screams when she sees what attacked her. It rears its head back, venom dripping from its fangs as it dives for her pale throat.

By then, my axe has already flown. It slices through the demon's neck, severing its head in one clean stroke. I call for it, and the hilt slams back into my palm. I reach out and help Clary to her feet.

"You have horrible luck with demons, you know that?" I grin.

She makes a face and pulls out her dagger.

"Come on," Sebastian says. "There are more of them."

I turn to him, and that's when I see one of the snake-headed demons rearing up behind him, like a cobra. I let go of Clary's hand and lunge towards him, throwing him out of the way. The demon strikes at me, but I sink the sharp edge of the bottom of my axe into its belly. It sinks down, and my blade slices it open. Demon blood splashes over me and I bite my lip to hold back my scream. God, that stuff feels awful.

I spin around. Sebastian is fighting another one of those things by the door. Jace and Clary are fending off two next to a display of antique ceramics. Shards of broken treasure litter the floor, and I'm careful not to step on any. Some look particularly sharp.

It doesn't take long for me to find a demon of my own. It's smaller than the others, and slithers out of nowhere. I only see it when it sinks its fangs into my arm.

I rear my arm back, slamming it into the wall. It's grip doesn't loosen, and fury boils through me. "You want to taste an angel, bitch?" I snarl.

I drive poison through my body to the source of the demon's bite. Enough to kill an army of men. It jerks away from me, but the deed has already been done. It curls to the ground, writhing, screaming, until finally it turns into nothing.

"Arta!"

I glance up. Sebastian hurries to me. Over his shoulder, I see Mirek fumbling for the back door.

"Clary!" I yell. "Stop him!"

I mean subdue, as in hit really hard or something like that. But Clary sprints to him, her weapon exploding in a blinding glow as she calls upon the angel Nakir. She knocks Mirek down in one fluid motion. He says something to her, but she sneers and whispers something back before plunging her blade into his heart.

I raise my eyebrows. "I think Jace is starting to rub off on her."

We hurry to her side. The boys look far more worried than I am – I'm grinning from ear to ear. I can tell from her grin that she's just as pleased as I am.

"Name of the Angel, Clary," Sebastian breathes. "The _adamas_ –"

"Oh that stuff you wanted? It's right here." She holds up a bright, luminous chunk of silver smeared with blood.

Sebastian swears with relief and grabs the _adamas_ from her hand. Jace pulls her into his arms, checking her for wounds the way my mother would. I laugh, and Sebastian grins at me.

"All right you guys," he says, spinning the _adamas _in one hand. "Tomorrow we use this. Tonight – once we clean up – we celebrate."


	8. Chapter 8

8

_Note: This scene goes to I'm Only Joking by Kongos. Thanks for reading! _

"We have to do that more often."

Sebastian smirks at me. "What happened to 'I don't wanna come'?"

I shrug. "I came. I liked it. I want to do it again."

He snickers, and I swat the side of his head. "Naughty boy."

"Am I?" He pushes me against the wall, resting his hands on either side of my head. We're outside the antique's store. Jace and Clary have claimed the bathroom, so Sebastian and I went outside to dim the lights and erase all sign of demonic activity.

I rest my elbows on his extended arms, letting my forearms dangle inside the little cage he makes with his body. He's taller than I am, so I have to get on my toes to make it work. Even in heels.

"So where are we going?" I ask.

He moves his arms so his forearms rest above my head, one above the other. He towers above me now, and I press my palms flat to the brick. His body is big, and cages me in shadow. I have to admit, I like it. It makes me feel like no one can touch me when he's around. And with powers like mine, people are always trying to touch me. "Where do you want to go?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Wherever you want to go."

He leans in, his face inches from mine. He continues talking as if we're sitting five feet away from each other. "How about a club?"

In Italy? Oh _yes_. "I'm down. Hey, are you wearing a new cologne?"

"I am."

"You should wear it more often." It's _delicious. _Intense, strong, yet not too sweet.

"I was actually going to ask you." He leans in, his face just an inch away from my neck. "What's that lotion you always wear? It smells like candy. Like _good _candy."

I blink and swallow. Him being this close makes my body ten times more aware of things than usual. "Pink Ch-Chiffon, from Bath and Body Works. It's my favorite."

"Mine too," he purrs. His breath is on my neck, and for a moment, I honestly can't breathe. What do I do? What is _he _going to do?

"M-maybe we should check on Jace and Clary." The words tumble from my mouth.

He pauses then. "You're right." He pulls away, and cold air rushes to meet me. He steps away from me and heads back inside. I stand there for a few moments, trying to catch my breath. Without him here, I feel exposed. Bare. I hurry after him.

I pause. The bathroom door is thrown open. Past Sebastian, I can see Clary sitting in the sink, and Jace standing near her with a giant grin on his face. They're both sprayed with water.

"Did I miss something?" I ask, coming to stand beside him.

He grins down at me. "That's Jace's idea of sweeping someone off their feet." He nods to Clary in the sink.

I laugh. I look Clary over, at her outfit which really needs help. "Here," I say, manifesting a small black slip. "Try this on. It's vintage."

She hands Jace his stele and takes the outfit. Normally I just manifest outfits on, but on other people it's a little trickier. I have to dissolve their actual clothing, _then _put on what I'm giving them. If I just change the shape of their clothes, I run the risk of snagging skin or body parts. And I have a feeling Clary doesn't want to be undressed in front of her brother. Before she can shut the door, I jump in.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "Do you two normally change together?"

"Oh hush," I say, waving a hand. "I need to make sure the dress looks good, in case I need to manifest something else." I slam the door shut and spin on her.

"What is it?" she asks, peeling her shirt off.

_Remember that time Sebastian and I went to go talk to Barbatos? _I told her about it immediately, but I left out the majority of our conversation, including what Barbatos said about him. I have a feeling she wouldn't want to listen to that. Clary believes with all her heart that Sebastian is evil. I don't blame her. But I don't agree.

She nods. "That dress looks cute, but try something more black."

At first I don't get what she's doing, but then I realize she's just making up dialogue so they don't get suspicious when they hear silence. Not that they'd notice – they're joking around out there as if they've been friends for life.

"I like red." Sebastian said he loved the color on me. _I lied. I _did _ask him a question. About Sebastian._

"Oh really?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Come on Clary, you know my fashion taste is unquestionable." _I asked him if Sebastian is evil and he said some riddle-shit but basically I think he's saying Sebastian can be saved. _

"Then why the hell did you ask?" she snaps. _That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You know demons are full of it, right?_

"I don't know." _Barbados wasn't lying. I swear. And I . . . I don't know. I think I'm starting to like Sebastian, Clary._

_Bullshit! _For a moment, I see actual, living rage in her eyes. _Did you forget what he did to all of us? He killed Max. He almost killed Isabelle. He got hundreds – thousands of people killed in Alincante. He almost killed Jace! _

_I know that,_ I say softly. _But we talked, Clary. He said . . . he said he was sorry._ I realize then it doesn't sound very convincing.

_Did he? _she asks sarcastically. She doesn't sound like she's even listening.

_He could have been lying but . . . you had to be there, Clary. You had to hear the way he said it – _

_He was raised by Valentine, Artemis. Lying, manipulation – that's his thing. He did it to all of us for days, convincing us he was Sebastian Verlac. If you had been there, you wouldn't be saying this now._

_I know, _I say miserably. _I feel disgusting for it but . . . Clary, I don't hate him. I just, I think I genuinely like him._

She silent for a few moments. _You do know he kissed me, while he was fully aware we were brother and sister. He kissed me._

I wince at those words. _He's never been loved, _I say, repeating the words Barbados told me. _Maybe he doesn't know what love is._

_You're right, _she says coldly, taking a step back, fixing the hem of her dress. _He doesn't. And if you get close to him, he'll hurt you. He'll do what Valentine did to my mom. He destroys everything he touches, Arta. _

I wrap my arms around myself. "I don't know what's wrong with me," I whisper quietly.

She puts a hand on my shoulder then. Clary and I are around the same height, but in my heels, I'm taller. Even then, she manages to pull me into a tight hug. "It's just a dress, girl." _He's just a boy. You've had thousands of crushes before, haven't you?_

I nod. "Yeah. You're right."

* * *

In the end, I go with a cute yet revealing black dress that hugs my curves, gives my breasts a boost, and sits mid-thigh. I wanted to swap my ankle length boots for knee length ones, but since I'm so short it wouldn't leave any skin on my legs to see.

I pin my hair up with the last clip just as we reach the place. KOSTI LUSTR, it reads.

"What does that mean?" Clary asks.

"It means '_The Bone Chandelier_'. It's the name of the nightclub," Sebastian says, sauntering forward. He keeps one arm around my waist. His white hair turns various colors under the neon glow. "Stop fiddling with your hair. You look beautiful."

I blush under his praise. "Thanks."

He glances over his shoulder. "You coming?" he calls to Jace and Clary.

The moment we enter the club, light and sound swallow us whole. It's massive, and packed with people. The architecture reminds me of a cathedral. I can see stain glass windows high above the walls, with images of angels and demons intertwined with each other. Lights dance across the crowd, bathing us bright pink, neon green, and rich violet. A stream of lively techno music blares through the speakers. It's so loud I can feel every beat of the drums like hammers against my bones. Smoke, beer, and sweat fill the air but I honestly don't mind.

I turn up to Sebastian and grin. "I like this place."

He grins, his hand moving to the small of my back. Through the thin material of my dress, I can feel his fingers splayed out over my skin. "Wait till you see the rest of it. Come on," he says into my ear. "We're not staying up here with the hoi polloi."

I let him guide me through the crowd. I think Clary and Jace are following us, but I'm not sure. People look at us while we walk. Well, they glance up, see Sebastian, and immediately drop their gazes. Are they scared? Can they smell the darkness on him the way I can? I mentally shrug and settle against his hand. His thumb makes small, deep circles above my spine, and I find myself leaning into his grip. A set of worn stone steps lead downward, curving into darkness. That's were we go.

Sebastian moves his hand from my back, and I glance up at him. There's a harsh glow from Jace's witchlight that casts shadows over the demon-boy's face. He grins wickedly, and I find it hard to breathe again. And I'm not sure if it's the heat.

"Easy is the descent," he says.

_Easy is the descent into Hell. _I shiver.

He guides us through the hall, confident and sure-footed even though the stone-floor is smooth and I almost slip twice on them. He keeps an arm around me, steadying me against his body. The air grows cooler as we walk further down. The pop music from behind us fades until all I hear now is a deep hypnotic sound that makes me want to sway my hips and tilt my head back. My head spins as we step into a giant room that makes my breath hitch in my throat.

Everything is stone. The floor is smooth beneath our feet, something black and shimmery that reminds me of the starry night sky. A massive statue of a black-winged angel rises along the back wall, so tall its head vanishes into the shadows of the rafters. From its wings hang strings of red crystal that look like teardrops of blood. Color and light explode through the room. It's real, like small fireworks. Every time one bursts, it rains down glittering substance onto the crowd below. As my gaze moves upward, I see it. A massive chandelier made of bones.

At first I find it disturbing, but then I really look at it. It's not just a bunch of long-bones strung together – its intricate, and somewhat captivating. The main body is formed by spinal columns; femurs and tibias drip from the arms of the fixture, which swoops down to cradle human skulls, each holding a massive taper that drips black wax down onto the crowd below. A crowd with no humans.

"Werewolves and vampires," Sebastian says, as if hearing my thoughts. "In Prague, they're allies. This is where they . . . relax."

I could tell by the scent. I turn to him. "Won't they know you're Nephilim?"

"They know me. They'll know Clary and Jace are with me. You should blend in easily enough." He pulls his arm from around my waist. "I'll be right back."

"Sebastian –"

But he's already gone, lost in the crowd. I turn to Jace, who has his thumbs resting in the belt loops of his jeans. He shrugs. "There's probably someone he has to talk to here."

I frown. "So this isn't just for fun?"

"Sebastian never does anything for fun." He turns to Clary, and a heat flashes in his eyes. He takes her hands and pulls her to him. "But I do."

* * *

I don't even consider dancing with Clary, not when Jace is there. I'd rather not see my best friend and her boyfriend grinding on each other, thank you very much. So instead, I find a nice group of vampires and dance with them. I can't move quite like they can, but being mostly angel gives me _some _grace.

The first thing I noticed about this place was the shimmering liquid that rained down on the crowd. It's actually a really mild drug. I know I probably shouldn't let myself have too much, but the moment one drop touches my lips, I have to have more. And because of my angel-ness, the effects are shorter for me. I find myself tasting a lot more than I should, just to keep the buzz going.

A hand slips around my own, and for a moment I assume it's the same female vampire who's been getting a little grabby. I let her take both my hands and turn me to face her. But when I look up, I realize it's someone far prettier than a vampire.

I grin. "I was starting to think you'd ditched us."

Sebastian twirls me in his arms and pulls me from the group on one smooth motion. "Now why would I do that?"

I shrug, tilt my head back, and stick my tongue out. Droplets fall on my mouth, and I savor the taste. "Jace says you never do anything for _fun_." My tongue trips over itself, making the last word slurred.

His lips twitch. "I see you found out that silvery stuff isn't just glitter."

"Yeah, yeah." I sway my hips. "Let's dance."

He pulls me against his body, his fingers tracing lines down my back. His touch feels like a kiss, and my body leans into it. He smiles, drawing me in closer. I can feel the hem of his jeans digging against the bottom of my stomach, and he grips my hips and rubs himself against me once. Twice. He knows exactly what he's doing. A run of liquid traces my lower lip, and I lick it away. When I blink, I see massive black wings sprouting from Sebastian's back.

I reach out to touch them, but my hand goes through, as if they are made of black smoke. I frown. "Your wings."

His hands pause on my waist. "My wings?"

I run my hand through them again. "I can't touch them."

He laughs. "They're not real, Arta."

"Sure they are." I pull his hands from my hips and lace our fingers together. "Come on. I'll show you."

I pull him through the crowd, to one of the giant stone fountains around the room. I almost trip and fall inside, but he steadies me by pulling back on my hands, drawing me to his side. I let go of him and hug one of the columns holding the roof up. Then I realize it's his arm. "Look."

He does. He looks into the water's reflection, which is lit by the neon. His wings are beautiful and massive, with soft black feathers lined in ruffled rows. Each feather is tipped with black ink that leaves marks in the air with his every breath.

"I don't see anything," he says. His arm is slack against me, his expression blank.

Well then, I'll help him. I touch his back, and use a little bit of magic to color in his wings. I can tell by his expression that he sees them, and I giggle.

"See?" I say, leaning against his shoulder. "You're an angel."

He looks at his reflection, and I see something harden in his eyes. Eyes as black as his wings. He reaches behind him to touch them with his free arm, but his hands also go through. I frown. His wings are stupid.

"I'm not an angel," he says. "Angels have white wings. Mine are black."

I shrug and drop his arm. "You can be a fallen angel, then." Black wings are hotter, anyway.

His lips quirk up in a dry smile. "Are they?"

I said that out loud? Oops. I touch his wings again, and this time they color white. It matches his hair, and makes him look bigger. He stands a little straighter, and I'm reminded of the angel Raziel.

"I'm not an angel," he repeats, waving a hand through his wings. They dissolve, like mist in a fan.

"Well then," I say, taking his hand and twirling myself beneath his arm. "If you aren't an angel, then what are you?"

He twirls me once more, but it's sloppy. He's distracted. I frown. I want to rest my hands on his shoulders, but they somehow end up on his chest, on either side of his beating heart.

"Well?" I press.

"I . . ." He doesn't know the answer? I laugh, and his eyes narrow. "What are you laughing for?"

"It's an easy question," I tease. "There's only one of you. You should know."

"Well I don't," he snaps, and rests his hands over mine. He starts to pull them away, but he stops. "Do _you _know the answer?"

I shrug. "I'm not telling. That's a-cheating. Ask Clary. She's your sister, she might know."

Something flickers in his eyes, and he pulls my hands from his chest. He turns and heads back into the crowd, and I shrug and sashay my way back to the vampires. They're waiting for me with eager arms, and a particularly pretty boy pulls me in close. His hair is black, and I wonder briefly what Sebastian would look like with black hair.

I giggle. Black hair, black eyes, black soul.


	9. Chapter 9

9

I hate faerie glitter.

I drink my third cup of water and lean against the stone wall. Jace and Clary must have vanished somewhere, and Sebastian is nowhere to be seen. I can't really catch his scent, not with this many diverse scents in here. I have a feeling wherever he went I should be following – it's probably someplace important, especially if he wanted Jace, Clary, and I distracted like this.

I let out an annoyed sigh. Nah, I was too busy hopped up on faerie glitter and spewing nonsense about wings to think about that.

I make my way around the crowd of dancers, suddenly feeling guilty. I made Clary drag me along despite the fact that I really should have stayed home, and so far I've done nothing to help, except become friends with the boy she hates most in the world.

I see a dusty velvet curtain and the scent of clean air trickles in from it. I like the idea of getting some fresh air, so I head towards it. But when my hand touches the curtain, I freeze. There are voices outside.

One of them is Sebastian's.

At first I assume he found a girl and is sweet-talking her back there, but the voice is male. And boy, is it familiar.

I touch the curtain and close my eyes. Seeing through the eyes of the inanimate isn't one of my best talents, but I've been working on it lately. At first the voices are fuzzy, and the images are blurred. But when I focus enough to block out all sounds around me, the scene clears, as if I'm standing right there with them.

I hiss in a sharp breath. I know why that voice was familiar – it's Merliorn. The Seelie Queen's personal guard, and Isabelle's ex. Why is he with Sebastian?

". . . the Lady has a special interest in you. She knows of all your movements." The faerie knight sips his wine. "There was a great demonic disturbance here in Prague tonight. The Queen was concerned."

So the faeries are working with Sebastian. I'm _so _surprised. They've always allied with the stronger party.

Sebastian spreads his arms out. "As you can see, I am unharmed."

"A disturbance so great will surely win the attention of the Nephilim. In fact, if I am not mistaken, several of them already disport themselves without."

I really do hate faerie talk. Half the time, I don't understand what they're saying. The other half, they're only telling part of the story.

"Without what?" Sebastian asks innocently.

Merliorn glares at him and takes another sip of his wine.

"Oh right. I forget the amusing way faeries talk. You mean there are Shadowhunters in the crowd outside, looking for me. I know that. I noticed them earlier. The Queen must not think much of me if she doesn't think I can handle a few Nephilim on my own."

A bad feeling settles in my gut. There are Nephilim here? What if they see us? Hell, what if they see _me_? I'm not one of them, I'm just one of their hired help. If they realize I'm here with Sebastian, a wanted criminal, they'll kill me. Well, they'd try. The least they'll do is give me hell and an eternally bad name.

As if hearing my concern, Sebastian draws a dagger from his belt and twirls it, light sparkling off the blade.

"I shall tell her you said so," Merliorn mutters. He doesn't like Sebastian at all, I can tell. "I must admit, I have no idea what attraction you hold for her. I have taken your measure and found it lacking. But I have not my lady's taste."

"Weighed in the balance and found wanting?" He seems amused. He leans forward and traces a crack in the stone with the tip of his dagger, creating a sharp grating sound that makes my head hurt and the image flicker. "Let me break it down for you, faerie knight. I'm young. I'm pretty. And I'm willing to burn the whole world down to the ground to get what I want."

My breath hitches in my throat. So this is the Sebastian everyone was talking about. I see him now, stepping on the throat of the one I befriended.

"Oh?" Merliorn raises an eyebrow.

He ignores him. "What I desire to know is this: When the twilight of the Nephilim comes, will the Courts stand with or against me?"

His face is expressionless as he answers. "The Lady says she stands with you."

The smile that curls on his lips is dark, and makes my fingers shake against the velvet. "Excellent."

I jerk my hand back and stumble away from the curtain. Dawn of the Nephilim. Alliance with the Courts. There's more to his plans than he was letting on. Could he be lying about his real goal? But then why else would he want Greater Demons on his side? He would never ally with them for real.

I hurry back into the crowd when I see the curtain shift. I'll ask Clary – maybe she'll have some better ideas. After all, she's the one who's actually been getting information.

I find myself in the center of a werewolf pack, and let me tell you, there is no better place to be. I tip my head back and let the droplets touch my lips, even though I know I shouldn't. I want to forget – that's all I want right now. I want to forget the Sebastian I saw in the alcove. I want to forget that he lied to me.

One particularly large werewolves settles his hands on my hips, and I lean into his big body. Bigger than Sebastian's. Gentler than Sebastian.

His hand starts to creep lower and I lace my fingers through his to keep it steady. I let his other hand wander upward, and lean my head back over his shoulder. His dark hair falls over his eyes. I close my own as his kisses my throat. I can feel his teeth against my skin, and I shiver in anticipation for a bite. Werewolves are the best biters, and being mostly angel, I can't be turned. My blood burns out the lycanthropy disease before it can blossom.

I stretch on my toes and kiss his jaw, letting my tongue dart out. He growls and holds me tighter, but still not tight enough. I kiss his neck and nibble at his skin, and he does what I want. I smile and expose my neck for him, and he returns the favor.

And then he's replaced with another werewolf. I can smell his scent. This one isn't as big, but that's alright. It continues like this, me switching from werewolf to werewolf when one gets too boring for me.

Finally, a pair of strong hands settle on my waist and pull me back against a familiar body.

"Miss me?" Sebastian whispers in my ear.

He doesn't give me time to respond. He licks the cuff of my ear and bites my earlobe. When I whimper, his hands hold me tighter, just the way I want. I lean my head on his shoulder, and he wastes no time. He kisses my throat, biting playfully at the curve of my shoulder, twin of his soft spot. His hand traces a path down my bellybutton to my thighs, where my dress has ridden up. His fingers snake inward, gently stroking the inside of my thigh, barely grazing the line of my panties. I gasp, and he chuckles.

Our bodies move against each other as we dance. His hands roam over the thin material of my dress, pressing hard into my skin. My hips roll against him, and his body rubs against me. The music is loud, rumbly, and urges us on.

His other hand tilts my chin up so I can see him, and for the first time I find myself completely at a loss of words, and of breath. His eyes are a black fire that could burn down cities. He isn't smiling – he looks almost . . . hungry. His fingers slip back to the outside my thigh, riding inside my dress. He moves across my stomach, and traces the elastic hem of my panties. He pulls it back and lets it hit my skin with a hard _slap. _I jerk against his body, but he keeps me still.

"Angel," he whispers, his breath on my lips. "What am I?"

I realize he's asking about earlier, when I told him to figure it out on his own. I smile slowly, and lean forward, so our lips are just barely touching.

"You're Sebastian," I breathe, and draw away from him. I catch him off guard, so he can't pull me back when I slip out of his arms. I didn't want to lose his touch, but the idea of him running after me makes me giggle.

I back through the crowd, stumbling and bumping into people. Sebastian keeps his gaze level with mine, striding towards me through the mass of writhing bodies and heat as if he's unaffected by all of it. All I see is that hungry black fire – hungry for _me_.

My body bumps against a stone wall and I realize I can't back up anymore. Before I can go through the wall, Sebastian is there, hands on my waist, lips at my throat. His hands snake down my thighs, his grip so tight it really does feel like a snake or something of the sort is clinging to me. He hitches my legs around his waist and pushes me up with his body, so my head is a little above his own. My back scrapes against the wall, and I know the material of my dress has torn in places. But I don't care.

He licks a path up my throat, then bites down hard at the top of my neck, below my jaw. I groan, and he licks over the wound and moves to the other side of my neck and bites me again. He whispers things in my ear that I can barely hear over the music, but his soft, husky murmur lets me know its intimate. His hands move from my thighs to the top of my dress. With just a little force, he tears the neckline so it shows a little more than just my cleavage. His lips move from my neck to the tops of my breasts and he kisses them too, rolling the skin between his teeth before sucking hard. I vaguely wonder just how many hickies I'm going to be covered with.

My heart pounds so hard and so loudly it's all I hear. He kisses my heartbeat, making it quicken even more. He smiles against my skin and looks up at me innocently, as if my body's reaction is beyond his control. As if he doesn't know exactly what he's doing to me.

I draw him back to me and kiss his jaw. I kiss my way across his cheek, to the corner of his mouth. His lips are slightly parted, and I take advantage of it and bite his lower lip. Hard.

He groans and crushes his body against mine. I can feel his heart pounding, as if trying to escape his chest and join mine. I wind my legs tighter around him, and I feel the bulge in his jeans against my panties, which are almost completely exposed from how far my dress has ridden up. But his body hides me, protects me, so no one can see.

"Who do you belong to?"

My lips pause on his neck. My head is spinning. "Wha?"

He tilts my head up so we're face to face. "I said," he says softly, his lips barely touching my own. "Who do you belong to?"

His voice is deep and husky, but for some reason I find his question funny. I laugh. "What kind of question is that?"

"Just tell me." His words make his lips touch my own, just barely. He draws away and looks at me.

I frown. Why does he want me to answer a question like that? We should be . . . I frown. What should we be doing? Dancing? I should be getting his secrets. I smile and wrap my arms around his neck. "Who do _you _belong to?"

He's silent. The fire in his eyes isn't as hungry now, nor is it for me. They seem to look straight through me, as if trying to find the answer. Huh. So he really doesn't know.

I smile. "I know who you could belong to."

His gaze clicks back to mine. "Who?"

"Me!" I sing, and kiss his hair. "You can be mine."

He laughs once, but it isn't a real laugh. I frown. If he doesn't want to be mine, then he should have thought of that before he made me his.

"Alright then," he says softly. "I'll belong to you."

And then he dives forward, fangs bared, and his wings swallow me in black.


	10. Chapter 10

10

I wake up in my room, feeling as if I had just been slammed back inside my body after spending years wandering outside of it in some sort of corporeal, misty form. I let out a long, deep sigh and sit up, pushing my hair from my face. What day is it?

I take a quick shower and put my hair in a side braid. I change out of my torn party dress into a comfortable oversized Divergent sweatshirt and short blue shorts. I add a pair of black knee-high socks so I can slide around the hallway on my way downstairs.

I walk to the kitchen on my toes, since the tile of the floor is so cold. With each step, hazy memories from last night slowly climb back into my head. Werewolves – vampires –

My eyes fly open. Me and Sebastian. Oh my god, did we kiss? Hell, we did just about everything else. I mean, all the things that involve most clothes on but still. I stop where I am and hold my face in my hands. What do I do now? Was that all because we were in the club and he was just letting off steam? Was that playful? I don't know how these things work. Maybe he expects nothing to be said about it. Or maybe it was all the effect of the shimmering liquid, and _he _remembers none of it.

I shake my head. Among all of us, Sebastian and Jace seemed the most lucid under the effects. Either he had none, or had been around it long enough to control himself. So he knew what he was doing. Did I? I don't feel any particular sense of regret or disgust or any feeling of violation. But would I do it again?

A small blush touches my cheeks. I don't know. But I can hear Sebastian and Clary downstairs. I start walking again, and jog lightly down the steps. Maybe I can pull him aside and ask. No, I should wait for him to make the move, since I have no idea what to say. Or maybe he won't say anything. Maybe he'll pull me aside, someplace dark with black silk sheets –

I reach the living room and stop dead. Sebastian's there all right. He's sitting on the couch, laughing. But it isn't Clary who he's talking to. There are two girls, sitting on either side of him. One is a vampire, I can tell immediately. The other is some pretty blonde with a spangled top – human, as far as I can tell. She has her head on Sebastian's shoulder, gently stroking circles on his bicep. I don't think any of them have noticed me yet.

Something drops inside me – like a massive letdown, but worse. But I wipe all emotion from my features and stride past the dawning of a threesome and into the kitchen, where I noisily pour a bowl of cocoa puffs and hum as I dig through the fridge for some milk.

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt as I slowly take my time, pouring the milk, shoving a spoon in the mix, and picking up the bowl. I take one bite and say calmly, "I see you brought back some souvenirs from the club."

Sebastian's expression betrays nothing – not a glimmer of remorse or embarrassment. The vampire girl turns and asks him something in Italian, something that makes me cringe. He glances at me briefly, and something flickers in his eyes. He shakes his head. "_No. Lei è il mio amico._"

"_Lo non sono un suo amico,_" I say. "_Io sono il suo giudice di sorveglianza._"

The human girl glances sharply up at Sebastian, but the vampire just laughs. At least one of them can take a joke. I give them a pinky wave, and turn to Sebastian. "_Vergessen sie nicht, den müll raustragen, wenn sie fertig,_" I tell him in German. _Don't forget to take out the trash when you're done._

I don't stop to see his reaction, I saunter out of the kitchen with my cocoa puffs and jog back upstairs. The moment I'm back in my room, I snarl and fling the bowl so hard it lodges itself into the wall. Milk and cereal spray everywhere, but I just wave my hand and the mess dissolves, along with the bowl. The scar in the wall stays.

I stride to the mirror, ready to punch it, but I stop. No wonder the girl asked if I was going to join them. All around my neck are hickies and bites. I lift my sweatshirt up wearily and look at the bruises on my hips, at the ones on my thighs, in the shape of his fingertips. I would have worn those marks proudly, maybe asked for more. But now, after seeing what was downstairs, I want to scrub them off me. I want to tear them off my body with my nails. They'll be gone soon – the fact that they stayed this long is a miracle in itself. But soon isn't enough.

I blink hard, angry at myself for being this worked up. It was just a thing. Something casual, nothing to think on. I've done it before, haven't I? Hell, I should be _glad _someone like Sebastian isn't pressing me for a relationship of any sorts.

Ah hell, who am I kidding? I'm jealous as hell. But Barbatos warned me, so I might as well keep away while I still can. This is sign enough that I shouldn't bother with him. I snort. Considering what love means for people like me, it's probably for my safety that he isn't "the one". I swing by Clary's room to see if she's up. Since she isn't there, I figure she's in Jace's and I leave them alone.

I figure the next few hours are going to make the house very awkward to be in, so I want to get out as soon as possible. I leave a note in my room, just in case Sebastian takes my absence as an escape and vanishes. _Went to MacIntosh. BRB in two hours. If not back by then, wait another two hours. _

I figured out how the door out worked awhile ago. It isn't just necessarily the front door – you can open it anywhere, as long as you know how. I think the boys only know about the front, which makes me feel extra good about myself when I open one from my room and step into the streets of Venice. With a snap of my fingers, I'm back at my castle, where I know he won't follow.

The storm has settled and there's a beautiful afternoon glow setting over the lake. I manifest my camera and take a few pictures, then mentally tack them up in my room back in the apartment. I've taken hundreds since our time in different countries, and I'm going to have to remember to bring them all with me when we leave. Whenever that is. It's almost been a month, and so far all we know is that only a weapon of heaven can free Jace. And we haven't heard anything since, because Clary lost the freaking ring. She swore it must have fallen off in the club, and I keep meaning to go back and search for it. But in a crowd like that, it must have gotten picked up and taken away.

The idea of Simon mentally chatting with some horny werewolf man makes me giggle, despite myself. I rub my neck, glad to feel that most of the marks have faded. At least now I can call Zeb and not have it be awkward.

"Zeb?" I call to the sky. "You there? I could use a bestie."

I rock back and forth on my heels as I wait. He usually hears me no matter where I am, though after seeing who I've hung out lately, he might chose to ignore me.

"_Couldn't you at least _try _using the summoning rituals?_"

I grin and turn around. Standing on one of the thirty foot columns is a boy, same age as I appear to be, with his hands in his pockets. A baby blue long sleeve shirt hugs his skinny yet defined chest, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His brown, almost black, hair flutters back in the wind. His lips, a lush red, smile at me. His solid white eyes betray no emotion, but I know he's glad to see me. His giant white wings, which are tucked behind his back, unfurl and carry him down to me.

"Why bother with all that junk when I can just call you?" I grin, sitting down on one of the fallen walls. I manifest a stone throne-like chair for him to sit in.

"_Because I'm an angel, and angels need to be properly summoned,_" he says, sitting down.

"You're also my friend," I say. "And friends don't make friends go through the annoying and energy-sapping process of summoning rituals."

He grins."_So what have you called me for?_"

Zeb is a little like me in the sense that he's angel-blooded, but he's basically an inkling of human DNA away from being a full angel. Because of the potency of angel-ness in his blood, he actually grew wings. Beautiful, angelic wings that earn him the right to live in heaven, since his mother is dead and his angel father took him in. But he isn't a real angel, and will die like me someday. Probably after me.

We met out after his mother died. He stayed with us for a few years, but my parents had no idea how to raise him. He didn't know how to use his powers, and regularly caused havoc. Especially since I used to pick on him a lot when we grew up together. He was taken into heaven when he was five, and just this year we got back in touch. We haven't really caught up, and usually our conversations are cut short because we don't know what to say, but I enjoy his company. It's hard not to – he's such a sweetheart. He's sixteen in angel years, meaning in human years he's just a baby.

"So I'm assuming you know about Sebastian Morgenstern, right?" I say.

He makes a face. "_Everyone knows about him. Heaven isn't particularly concerned with him though; then again, they aren't really concerned about human affairs. The Morgenstern's work will come and go within the span of a century. A mere blink of an eye to us angels._"

I cough. "You're not actually an angel." I cough again.

He gives me a wry look. "_I heard that. And I am more angel than you are, Arty._"

"Don't call me that. Copyright."

"_What?_"

I wave a hand. "I'm assuming you probably know I've been staying with him for the past, well, month."

"_Is that what those marks are?_"

I cover my neck with a blush. "That was a mistake. It's actually what I came to talk about."

He looks briefly frightened. "_Arta, you are my friend and I love you. But please, I beg of you, don't talk to me about the sex. I do not want to hear about it._"

I let out a sound that somewhere between a snort and a giggle. "Did you just say 'the sex'?"

"_I use whatever terms I please. Now, if that's all you want to talk about, I really should get going._"

"No, no." I sigh and rest my elbows on my knees. "I . . . you know how our kind falls in love only once, right? Never again?"

"_Well, looking at your parents, it's kind of hard to forget._"

I want to grin, but I really don't have the energy to. "That's what I'm scared of."

"_Why?_"

"Well, I've dated dozens of guys before, and it never really clicked –"

"_Artemis, my friend, you have dated only two men in your lifetime._"

"I know, that's what I'm saying."

"_A dozen is twelve. That is ten more than what you have actually dated._"

"Zeb," I say sharply. "Not now. I think . . . I don't know. With all of them, there wasn't really that – ugh, I feel disgustingly cliché – but there wasn't a spark. I thought I liked them, but it wasn't really . . . I didn't really feel any connection. But –"

"_You feel a connection with Sebastian._" A look of understanding settles in his white eyes.

"No."

"_No?_" He frowns. He looks adorable when he's confused. Like a little puppy.

"I mean, I think not. But there might be one. It might happen. We haven't really, well I mean we _did _at the nightclub, but it wasn't . . . we haven't kissed."

"_So?_"

I let out a ragged sigh. "Every time he gets close to me, my body gets all jumpy. His smile is really sexy, and I wish I could learn how to draw marks so _I _could Mark him every time we go out to do something. I brought him here, you know. To MacIntosh."

His eyebrows shoot up. "_You've never brought anyone but me or your parents here._"

"Yeah, I know. And this morning, I walked into the living room – the morning after he left all these marks on me – and he had two girls with him."

Zeb friends. "_They are his friends. Why does that bother you?_"

"Zeb, they weren't his friends. They were future bedmates."

He looks even more confused. "_Why does he need two?_"

"Oh my God, I'm not giving you the sex talk."

He points at me, as if I just did something worth pointing at. "_You said 'the sex'._"

"So?"

"_You mocked me for saying 'the sex'. And now _you_ said it._" He grins wide, and I break into a small smile.

"You're such a dork." I manifest my camera. "Turn around."

"_Why?_"

"Because I want a picture of your wings to put on my wall. It'll look cool."

Zeb sighs, but does what I ask. He turns, and his wings spread in one swift, loud flutter. They spread, rising into the sky like the wings of an eagle, or a dove. They are massive, and I have to teleport myself several feet back to get it all in the image. With the sun winking off the top of his hair, and his shoulders slack from his hands being shoved in his pockets, he is the perfect model.

"All right," I say once I've taken the picture and tacked it in my room. I let the camera disintegrate and stand beside him. "I guess that's all I want to talk about."

"_But you are still sad._"

I shrug. "Ah, well, what can you do?"

"_I can make you happy again. Friends don't let other friends be sad._" He smiles cheerfully. "_Come. Let's do something fun._"

"You wouldn't know fun if it slapped you in the ass."

"_Why would it –_"

"Butt," I say, pointing at his. "Not the animal."

"_I do not understand why you would hit my 'ass', but if it makes you feel better, then I guess it's alright._"

I laugh. "You're gonna look back at yourself in two thousand years and groan for another two thousand. Now let's go."

* * *

Angel's are very active creatures, which is why we manage do over a dozen things that take up that entire day. Race through the sky, me on weak, manifested wings, from one sky to the other. Spar on the top of a possibly-active volcano. Go to a couple of movies, then a few various restaurants, then a rugby game. By the time we return to MacIntosh, the dawn of the next day is on the horizon.

Zeb grins at me as we sit and watch the sun rise. "_That was fun. We need to do that again._"

"Agreed." I show him another picture on my camera, of him feeding a few stray dogs. Every time we passed one, he'd stop to pet and bless it before sending it on its way. "This is one of the ten thousand times you did that, by the way."

"_We are all God's children. Dogs especially._"

"Can't argue there." I hug my knees. "So are you going back home now?"

"_I was supposed to return a few hours ago. Father will be angry._"

"God or your actual biological father?"

"_My father._" He stands, letting his wings spread. "_Godspeed, Arta. I'll miss you._"

"Wait, wait," I say quickly, just before he can take off. "I know you aren't supposed to spill secrets of the future but – can you tell me if . . . all of us are going to be okay? In the end?"

His smile fades. "_I wish I could. People will die. Some will forget. Hard times are coming. But I guess, at the end of all things, all will be well._"

And then he turns and takes off into the sky, vanishing into a wink of sunlight.

"Was that an angel?"

I recognize the voice immediately – how could I not? I say nothing, I just flip through the pictures on my camera, as if the landscape images on the screen have my attention, and not the cruel boy behind me.

Sebastian sits down beside me. "I was wondering where you went."

_Can't you read a damn note? _

"I came here . . . maybe ten hours after you went upstairs. You weren't at MacIntosh all day. At first I thought you'd gone to the Clave."

My hand stills on the button, and I know he knows he has my attention. His hand gently brushes my free hand resting on the grass, his pinkie settling over mine. "I thought about leaving, but I wanted to give you a chance. In case you decided to do something else. I guess I was right."

"Why wait?"

He looks at me, but I don't look at him. "What?"

"Why bother waiting? What made you think I was going to come back, after that shit you pulled yesterday morning?"

"I didn't think you would," he admits. "But I was willing to wait."

"Why?"

"Because." Suddenly his hand is on my chin, lifting me up to face him. His eyes are lit with that black fire again. "I've been waiting for you for a long time."

And then he kisses me.


	11. Chapter 11

11

_Just a heads up – this chapter is the reason why the story is M. If you don't want to read that, the skip the last few paragraphs :) Thanks for reading!_

At first, I'm too shocked to do anything. The hand on my chin cups my face, angling me so he can kiss me deeper. It's surprisingly sweet; his soft lips coax a reaction out of me, and I find myself leaning into the kiss. His tongue gently strokes my own, sending a shot of electricity down my spine.

Then I wake up.

And I slap him.

He almost goes down the hill from the force of it, but I grab him by the collar of his shirt and yank him back to me, slamming my lips against his own. I shove him into the grass and kiss him with everything I have. His hands hold me just as tight as he always has as I straddle his waist and bite his lower lip, eliciting a groan. Our tongues twist, our bodies press against each other so our pounding hearts almost touch.

And then I jerk away and roll off him. "Damn it, Sebastian!" I shout.

He grins wide, and that sets me off. I lunge forward and shove him so he actually does go rolling down the hill. Only, I forget to let go of him, and I go tumbling along with him. He wraps himself around me so his body takes most of the impact, until we come to a stop at the edge of the lake and our bodies touch the icy shoreline. I wrestle myself out of his arms, stumbling back into the lake.

I glare at him. "You're a piece of shit, Sebastian."

But he isn't glaring back at me, or yelling, or anything like that. He's laughing_. _His hair is partially wet, his grey shirt is stained with grass and dirt, and he's wearing his stupid sexy grin again, the one that makes his eyes lighten just a little. The one I love.

I lunge forward and shove him again, but he catches me and pulls me into his arms and kisses me again, holding my face in both hands as we stumble backwards into the river. Ah God, his kisses are intoxicating.

"N-no!" I gasp, pulling away. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?" he purrs. He nips and kisses my neck, and I have to shove him away to think clearly. My head is spinning. What was I doing again?

"Keep your mouth off me for a second," I snap. I intend to sound tough and authoritative, but my words come out breathy and soft.

"You kissed me back."

"No shit," I growl. "But that doesn't matter. What matters are those two girls you had with you in the morning! And don't you _dare _trying telling me they were just 'friends'."

"You're right," he says. His smile is gone. "It was what you thought it was."

"And did you . . ." My hands tremble, and I clench them into fists.

"Did we have sex?" His expression remains unreadable. "Yes."

I let out a screech and shove him forward, so he flies at least three feet back before crashing into the water. He just stands back up. No anger, no irritation. Hell, he acts as if he deserves it. Which he does. But no one acts like they deserve to get thrown around.

"Can we just . . . talk, Arta?" His voice is gentle, and for once, he doesn't look like he has any tricks up his sleeve.

My lips quiver. I want to shove him again, but I can't. Not when his shirt clings to his chest the way it is, nearly transparent. Not when water travels down the body the way its doing. Not when he's looking at me the way he is now, as he spent the last seventeen years blind, and I'm the first thing he has seen.

"Talk now." I cross my hands over my chest. "And make it fast, because I am sick of you, Sebastian. Sick of being scared and wildly attracted to you. Sick of feeling, well, sick for feeling the way I do about you – you the boy, who killed thousands, kissed his own sister, murdered a child, is the god damn _personification _of _everything _I should _never _fall in love with!"

I'm panting, I realize then. And my ears are probably red. And I probably look like a mountain troll, with my hair in a tangled mess and my clothes rumpled, wet, and stained. But even then, he still looks at me as if I'm Aphrodite personified.

"I know what I am," he says finally. "You told me, in the nightclub. You said I belonged to you. And I thought about that, after I put you back in your room and went to mine. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to wake you up with a kiss, then fuck you in my bed. And then I started thinking of all the things I'd do to you and I realized then –" He breaks off. It's strange, seeing him this way. He looks lost, as if spilling emotion, sharing feelings, is foreign to him. He also looks somewhat disgusted, as if showing emotion is the epitome of weakness. And to Sebastian, weakness is, well, weakness.

"You realized what?" I ask softly.

He looks up at me, and his face is blank. His eyes are cold. "You, Angel. I realized you and I are completely different. I see the way you act with people. Everyone likes you. You smile at every stranger who looks your way. You sing Disney songs in the shower, and tack up pictures of sunsets and mountains in your room. You tried backing cat-shaped brownies for God's sakes. And me?" He steps forward. "People hate me, and I hate people. I hate seeing cute movies and happy families, because it reminds me of what Valentine never gave me. When I kill my enemies, I feel a rush. I love the sensation. I like me, the way I am. I want to see the Clave in their corruption, crushed under my feet, and I don't particularly care what I have to do to see that through. I don't _care_ at all, what people think of me." He clenches his jaw. "Except you."

We stand there, facing each other, in perfect silence. The water laps at my knees, chilling my bones, but I don't do anything about it. Sebastian is shivering slightly, in waters that would burn a man from how cold they are.

"They were dick-shaped."

He looks at me as if I'm insane. "What?"

"The brownies." I step forward so we're chest to chest, and manifest a thick towel, which I wrap around his shoulders. "I tried making them cat shaped, but Jace said they looked stupid, so I made them dick-shaped." I made them 3-D too, so it was like eating a giant brownie dildo.

He doesn't say anything. He just wraps me up in his arms, and I let him, so we're both swathed in towel.

"You're so strange, Angel," he says. "But I love you."

I frown and glance up. "Love? As in, cupid shot you in the ass?"

He looks back down at me. "Yeah. Cupid shot me in the ass."

I grin then, and bury my face in his chest. I can't do much more than that, really. Which is fine, because he just holds me and kisses my hair.

"You're wrong, though."

His lips still. "What do you mean?"

"You make it seem like I'm some delicate cutie." I rest my forehead against his heartbeat. "While I _am _cute, I'm not delicate. I like fighting just as much as you do, Sebastian. Everyone feels that rush when they kill their enemy. I like having my power; I like having people beg me for help. It makes me feel, well, important." I blush. "And I like – love – you, for everything that you are. And I find it particularly sexy when you fight. You're biceps do a really nice thing."

"'Nice thing'?"

"I don't know how to explain it. I guess it would be like watching my boobs bounce." I blush so hard I think my skin might burn away. "If you're, um, into that."

"Oh believe me," his lips are at my ear, his voice low and husky. "I'm into that."

I let out a dumb short laugh and rest my head against his chest, listening to his heart. It's pounding a little faster than usual, but then again so is mine. "So if you had this all figured out, why did you bring those girls back?"

"I was angry at myself." He rests his chin on my head. "I always thought that love was weakness, and to be loved was to be weak."

I grin. "I've heard another version of that."

"Destruction, yes. I never particularly thought love was strong enough to destroy. It made one weak, and _that's _what got them destroyed. And I am weak for you, Angel. I'd kill for you. I'd destroy anything to have you. Having you near me makes me feel complete. And I was angry about that, for a few hours. Then there was the fact that I thought you'd be repulsed by me." I can almost hear his bitter smile. "Disgusted that I'd ask for your love. Disgusted by my kind of love. And why wouldn't you be? Because like I said. You're an angel. And I'm . . . not." He hugs me tighter, as if I'm going to slip through his fingers.

I tilt my head up, and he draws back. Without another word, I teleport us back to the center of MacIntosh's ruins, and I kiss him.

* * *

I arch my back off the grass, letting out another helpless moan. He chuckles against my skin and continues kissing and licking his way down to the hem of my panties. His hands tear through it, tossing the material aside as he shoves my legs apart and devours me.

I scream then, and fling my head to the side. His tongue runs up to my clit, and he sucks hard. My hands almost tear out of the handcuffs he had me manifest earlier, to keep me in place while he ravished my body.

His finger glides through my folds and pushes into me easily. I hiss, trying to close my thighs around him, but he's stronger than I am, and keeps me spread out for him to taste. His mouth return to my clit while his finger slides in and out of me, slow at first, then quicker when he senses how close I am. He adds another finger to the mix, and I let out a low, husky groan. He seems to like the sound and, ever so gently, bites down on my clit.

I cry out as my orgasm tears through me, making my hands rip clean through the handcuffs, only to dig into the grass as he continues to fuck me with his fingers, stretching out my orgasm for as long as he can.

He crawls back up my body, noting my broken handcuffs with a dark smile. "Can't control yourself, Angel?" he purrs, bending down, bringing his lips inches from mine. "Well, neither can I."

He kisses me then, without any sense of restraint. It's is loud, hungry, and absolutely drugging. I can taste myself on his lips, on his tongue, which brushes against the roof of my mouth before twisting with my own. He tilts his head, kissing me deeper, and rubs his crotch against me once. Twice. Three times. He's still wearing his jeans, and the feel of denim against my clit makes me whimper against him. He bites my lower lip hard, licks away the small bead of blood, and suckles my lower lip between his teeth.

I roll us over so I'm on top. I lean back, admiring the view of his naked chest that rises and falls with each heavy breath. His eyes rake over me with fiery hunger, and I shiver under his gaze. I've never felt so beautiful before. I trace my fingers over the rise of his chest, over his hard abdomen and lines of muscle. I trace the swell of his biceps, twine our fingers together, and lean down to kiss him again. I kiss down his body, the way he did with me, pausing to scrape my teeth over his nipple. He hisses in a breath, and I smile. He's just as affected by me as I am by him.

He doesn't give me time to worship any more of him. Though I know that will come later. He flips us over, and kisses me hard, so hard that all I can do is tangle my hands in his hair and kiss him back. I gasp for breath when he pulls away. He towers above me, like a dark angel above the earth, and slowly undoes the buttons of his jeans. He's going too slow for me, and with an annoyed his I reach out and touch them, burning them away on contact.

He laughs. "Eager are we?"

I can't speak. My eyes have fallen on something else. Sebastian wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Like what you see?" he asks. I nod, and a current of electricity runs down my spine. The anticipation is killing me.

"Sebastian," I pant. It's all I can get out.

He smirks and draws my hips up so I line up exactly with his erection. My ass is a little off the ground. "Be a good little angel and scream for me."

And then he pushes into me, inch by inch. I do exactly what he demands and moan as he fills up every inch of me. He stretches over my body, one hand beside my head, the other on my hip. He's absolutely massive, and when he pushes past my barrier, all the way through, I gasp his name. He fucks me slowly, and once I gradually get used to the feel of him, he moves faster. My nails dig into his back and I hear him hiss with pleasure.

"_Sebastian,_" I moan. "Harder. _Please._"

He growls and fucks me harder, as if he can't get enough. He buries his face in my shoulder, and I see the puncture marks on his neck.

I smile, despite myself. "You like getting bit?" I give him no time to respond; I tangle my hands in his hair and bite the curve of his shoulder – hard.

He roars into my skin, hitched on a gasp of absolute bliss. I slowly lick the sting away and he pulls away long enough to kiss me senseless. His hips pull back and drive into me, rubbing against my clit with every thrust. "Tell me who you belong to," he growls into my skin.

"You." The word lifts of my tongue in a delicate, breathy moan.

"Me." His fingers dig into my skin, probably bruising me, as he fucks me harder, faster. "You're mine. Every inch, every fucking inch of you is mine."

And that pushes me over the edge. My climax hits me and all I can do is scream his name. Pleasure explodes through my body, and for those few blissful moments I can't tell if I'm in heaven or on earth.

Sebastian's moans pulls me back, and I listen to him reach his own climax. He fucks me over and over, so hard my back feels sore from rubbing into the grass. But I love the feeling, and I welcome his kiss when he gives it. He groans then, and I swallow the sound, feeling his pleasure all the way in my belly.

"_Angelo,_" he breathes as he finishes."_Il mio angelo._"

And then he collapses against me, enveloping my body in his own. He rolls us over with ease, and something tells me he could keep going, but won't, since it's my first time. I nestle into his side, and he wraps his right arm around me, hugging me close. I manifest a blanket for us and flatten my palm over his racing heart.

"Sebastian," I whisper. "_Maitre de mon coeur._"


	12. Chapter 12

12

"I know what you did."

A small streak of fear runs through me. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Clary narrows her eyes. She can be terrifying when she wants to be. "You want to know _how _I know what you did? With my brother?"

Am I sweating? I think I'm sweating. "I'd rather not, to be honest."

"Jace. He woke up this morning with scratch marks on his back and a giant bite mark on his neck."

My face is burning, and I briefly wonder if I can duck into one of the thousands of shops we pass and shove a mannequin down my throat. "Did he . . .?"

"Figure out how it got there and gag? Yeah." She stops me then, and I realize we've just backed into an ally. "So look me in the eye and tell me, right now, that you did not sleep with Sebastian."

"Technically, we didn't do much sleeping," I say sheepishly.

For a second, I think she's actually going to throw up on my shoes. Then her eyes narrow. "Damn it, Arta!" She spins around and storms off.

The morning had started off fine enough. I woke up to Sebastian kissing me, and we spent another hour at MacIntosh before going back to the apartment. Almost immediately, Clary yanked me aside and said she had to go shopping for feminine hygiene products, and needed my help. Sebastian let us go without question. And here I am now, somewhat scared for my life.

"Clary," I call, teleporting after her. "Clary listen."

"Don't 'listen' me," she snarls. "You slept with Sebastian. And –"

"I know, I know. But listen to me." I grip her shoulders and force her to calm down. "Sebastian hasn't shown any sign of his old psychotic self. The one that did all those things? You said it yourself – he seems different. Nicer."

She narrows her eyes. "I did say that, yeah, but he could be tricking us. I don't trust Sebastian, and I never will."

"That's your problem." My voice is harsher than I thought it would be. "He hasn't done _anything _to raise your suspicions. And so far, his plan doesn't seem that bad to me. Get the Clave's attention by killing a bunch of Greater Demons?" Barbatos hinted he might be using different methods; there may be more than what he told us, but overall his goal is pure. You can't accomplish change without a little bloodshed. "Think about how badly the Clave has messed up. They _need _someone to wake them up."

She knows as well as anyone that the Clave is like a broken clock, chiming it's last hour. But even then, she still looks hesitant. "People like that don't change, Arta."

I open my mouth to fire off another defense, but I stop. "Including you," I say quietly. "He'll never be able to gain your trust, will he?"

"Arta –"

But I've already teleported back to the apartment.

* * *

"So what are we waiting for?"

"Shhh," he says. "Just watch."

The sky is clearer here than I've ever seen before. We lay under the stars, in an open clearing somewhere in Rome. Since the grass started to bother me, I manifested a bed-sized kiddie pool and filled it with thick, puffy blankets and pillows. That's where Sebastian and I lie at the moment, one ear bud in our ears, connected to my iPod. Young the Giant's Cough Syrup plays gently.

And then, finally, I hear it. A deep, low rushing noise, like a waterfall plunging into a deep pool. The stars swirl and the sky darkens like a blackboard as figures, like chalk drawings formed by constellations, rush across the sky. Men with long hair riding horses whose hooves gleam the color of blood. The sound of a hunting horn tears through the night, making my blood charge as if I was part of the hunt itself. And then the stars shiver and wink back into sight, and the men vanish into the glow of the moon. The sound vanishes with them, and the sky returns to normal.

"What was that?" I ask in exhilaration.

"The Wild Hunt," he says. "Gabriel's Hounds. The Wild Host. They have many names. They're faeries that chose to leave the earth's Court in favor of the skies. They ride in an eternal hunt, and one night a year, a mortal can join them. But once you join the hunt, you can never leave."

I frown. "Why would anyone want to do that?" It seems like a fun thing to do for one night, maybe. But for eternity?

Suddenly, he rolls over on top of me, pinning me to the sheets. His white t-shirt rides up, and I can feel his hot skin through the fabric of my dress. "There's something appealing about the idea," he murmurs. "Of losing all control."

And then he's kissing me. I love Sebastian's kisses, because even though they're passionate and demanding, they can be sweet and gentle in their own way. The way his soft lips feel against mine, the way his body moves to put just the right amount of pressure on me without crushing me. The way his hands glide down my skin, touching the right parts of me in the right way. As if my body is an instrument he has mastered for centuries.

He pulls back, and I bite my lower lip. His eyes darken and he sucks in a breath. He rests one arm above my head, propping himself up. "Whenever I tend to lose control," he says softly, tracing his fingertips over the tops of my breasts, which are exposed thanks to my somewhat tight yet not-too-low neckline. "People get hurt. But not with you." He gently strokes my cheekbone with his knuckles, and runs his thumb over my lower lip. "With you, I can lose all trace of control, and I don't hurt you." He bends down and kisses me again, strong and sweet. "I don't have to fear my boundaries when I'm with you," he whispers against my lips.

"So I'm safe?" I tease.

"Oh Angel, you aren't safe." He grins wolfishly. "Not when you're alone with me."

And then he's kissing me again, deep and hungry. Our teeth clash, our tongues battle. He pulls me up so I'm sitting in his lap, which tears my headphones from the audio jack. Soft music sighs through the air as he crushes me close. His hand twines in my hair and pulls my head back – not too hard – and he kisses and licks his way down my throat. Ever since he realized that his marks will heal in a few hours time, he's been eager to see just how long he can make them last. And from the way he attacks me, I know he's going for at least a day. I toss my head back, giving him more access.

I gasp when his teeth find a particularly sensitive spot just under my left ear. "Wicked boy," I breathe.

He laughs against my skin; dark and husky. "Am I wicked, Angel?" He draws the strap of my dress down and kisses my shoulder. "Demons can be particularly feral. Especially –" He slams me back down against the pillows, straddles my waist, and brings his lips to my ear to whisper. "– around things they crave."

My head is spinning and my heart threatens to burst from my chest. "You crave me?" My voice is embarrassingly breathy.

He smiles then, and pulls back. "Yes, Angel, I crave you. Every sound you make –" He rocks his hips against me, eliciting a gasp as the bulge in his denim rubs over my clit. "Every inch of your beautiful skin –" He kisses the scar on my right shoulder, from where a demon got the better of me. "I crave it. All of it."

"I crave you too," I breathe. "I love you, Sebastian."

"I love you too, Angel."

By the Angel, I'll never get tired of hearing that. I pull him back to me so I can kiss him again, around the same time Honest by The Neighbourhood plays. I chuckle, despite myself.

He pauses then, and my heart pounds when the lyrics play. _I wish you could be honest with me. _

"What's funny?" he asks quietly.

I suddenly don't know what to say. "I saw you with Merliorn," I blurt.

He doesn't say anything, so I keep talking. "There's more to your . . . your plans, isn't there? If you're allying with the Seelie Queen. And when we went to go visit Magdalena? The Iron sister you gave the _adamas _to? What is she making, Sebastian?"

Again, he says nothing. Then he pulls himself off me, and rests beside me. He wraps an arm around me and draws me to his side, and I rest my head on his shoulder. "You know I wouldn't do anything that would hurt you, or Jace, or Clary." I can't detect anything but softness in his voice.

I shiver. He's hurting Jace now. And Clary – his very existence hurts her, honestly. I understand that his kissing her was confusion, since he didn't know the difference between sibling love and our love. He knows now. "I know," I say softly.

"Can you trust me that when I say what I'm doing is for us?"

I close my eyes. "Are you going to hurt people, Sebastian?" _Like you did in Alincante?_

"No," he says firmly. "The people joining me – they'll all be willing. Willing to die to defend us. You and me."

"And Jace and Clary?"

"Yes, them too." He rests his face in my hair. "All of us. My family, and my queen."

My heart stutters, and I smile despite myself. "I'm your queen?"

I can feel him smile against my hair. "Yes, you are. If you're alright."

I can't help it – I let out a stupid giggle and climb on top of him, straddling his waist, stretching out over his chest. "Of course I'm alright with it."

"Well then," he grins. He rolls us over then, so he's on top of me again. His eyes are completely black as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. "Make me your king."

* * *

That afternoon, Clary and I hang out in the living room, watching Marvel movies as an excuse to make up telepathically.

_So he's expecting some kind of army then, right? _Clary says. _He said the people who join him._

I shrug. _Makes sense, I guess. He'd need an army to fight a bunch of Greater Demons and their minions. _

She makes a sound, but doesn't say anything more about it. _Have you been able to contact Simon or any of the others?_

I shake my head, feeling rather useless. _They're too far. And I can't contact anyone from inside the apartment. _Lately, Sebastian has been going out more often on his own, without us. Occasionally he brings Jace, but that's about it. When I ask, he just says it's something he doesn't want to risk any of our lives for.

_Can Zeb give them a message?_

I perk up. _That's actually a good idea. I'll see if I can contact him later, when I'm alone. _

Jace and Sebastian walk into the living room then, grinning and shoving each other playfully. They join us; Jace sits beside Clary, who curls into his arms, and Sebastian lifts me up and settles me in his lap, my legs dangling over the arm of the chair. He kisses me, and I can't help but grin. "Things go well today?"

"Incredibly so," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. "Let's go to bed."

"I can't just ditch Clary in the middle of movie night," I tease.

He growls. "Yes you can."

I kiss his cheek. "Patience, young Morgenstern."

He mutters something under his breath and pulls me close, resting his chin on my shoulder. "What are we watching?"

"The Winter Soldier," I say. "Pretty nice movie, if I do say so myself."

"Oh please," Clary says. "You like it because of Bucky."

"Can't I appreciate a man's facial structure without such accusations?"

"Who the hell is Bucky?" To my delight, Sebastian actually sounds a little . . . jealous.

"That," Jace says, pointing at the screen, where Bucky is strapped to the chair, about to have his memory wiped again. I can't help but admire his abs, even though I've got a nice specimen of my own right beside me.

"He looks like he hasn't slept in days," he mutters. "And what the hell is wrong with his arm?"

"If you're jealous," I say. "Just say so."

Jace snickers, and Sebastian shoots him a look. "I am not jealous of a one-armed man."

_Hey Clary – _

_I saw him sneaking out last night._

My smile fades. _What? When?_

_I was in the kitchen getting milk around four or five in the morning. He was slipping out the door. I think he's been doing that for the past few days. I was thinking about following him, but I want you with me._

_Why?_

_In case we get caught. You can lie better than I can._

_Damn straight, _I say, frowning. For the past few days, I've woken up to Sebastian beside me, tangled in either his black silk sheets or my blue cotton ones, depending on who's bed we decide to sleep in. I never once noticed him slipping out. Then again, I don't really notice much when I'm asleep – when I'm out, I'm out.

_Tonight then, _I say. _We'll follow him._


	13. Chapter 13

13

We were in Paris. That much I could tell. The sky is a lighter shade of black blue, the signs of an early, colorless morning. It's cold, and I'm shivering, but I don't manifest a jacket or anything that might make noise. Just a close fitting grey dress and black Converse. People pass us like ghosts – I can't focus on any of them. I think I bumped into someone, and apologize absentmindedly. "_Desolé._"

_I always wanted to go to Paris, _Clary admits. _I never imagined I would actually follow someone through it._

I want to grin and say something funny, but I'm too tense. I'm too worried about what I'll catch Sebastian doing. Ironically, I'm not as worried about finding him meeting with a demon or something as I am finding him meeting with another girl. I don't suspect him of cheating, but sneaking out early every morning? Besides, he's beautiful. And I'm . . . well, I'm me.

I can't help but smile, remembering the one time I told him that. He simply lifted my chin and said, _I don't just call you Angel for your blood, Artemis. _

We turn on a narrow street lined with houses. Unlike America, most of the houses in France are extremely close to each other, lined with gates and narrow sidewalks. Since I'm keeping us invisible, we can follow him pretty closely. Sebastian stops in front of one of the houses and we freeze. Well, I freeze. Clary runs into me and almost knocks me over.

I glare at her.

"Sorry," she mouths.

I roll my eyes and face forward. Sebastian punches a code into a box set beside the door. My eyes follow the movement of his fingers. There's a click, and the door opens and he steps inside. The moment it's shut, I sprint to the house and punch in the same code – X235 – waiting for the door to unlock. When it does, I grin and head inside.

"It shouldn't be this easy," Clary mutters under her breath.

"Well thanks put putting that in my head," I say, but she has a point.

A moment later, we're standing inside a square courtyard, surrounded by ordinary brick buildings. Three of them have open doors, all with staircases leading upward. Sebastian, however, is gone.

I give her a sideways glance. _What did you say about this being easy?_

We stride into the courtyard, side by side. Even though we have the protection of invisibility, I can't help but feel exposed. All someone needs is the right set of spelled glasses or magic eyes and they'd be able to see us. The sky is lighter than before, and continues to get lighter every moment that passes. Darkness won't play on our side for long.

I follow Sebastian's scent to the first stairwell that we see. It's plain, with two flights of stairs, one leading upward and one down. The scent of demons is thick here, and black dust swirls in my palm out of instinct. With this many, my angel scent stands out. With the wall of invisibility, it'll stand out like a beacon. Reluctantly, I tear it away, exposing us. Clary doesn't ask – she already knows how it all works. She must be able to smell the demons too.

The smell grows stronger as we make our way downstairs. I blink twice, and my vision clicks into night vision, green like human tech. I cover my mouth with my wrist, trying not to gag on the stink. It's worse for me than it is for Clary, though the darkness is definitely worse for her than me. I wish I could do something to help her see, but giving her night vision runs the risk of me permanently setting her vision that way, or blinding her completely.

I feel her hand on my arm, and I step to the side of the stairs so she can hug the banister with her right hand and hold my hand with her left. Light flares in the distance, and I shut off my night vision. Slowly, the darkness seeps away and I look around.

Any semblance to an ordinary apartment building is gone. Somewhere along the way the wooden staircase turned into stone. The room we stand in is stone-walled, lit by a torch that glows with a sick greenish light that reminds me a little of Maleficent. Only this isn't a Disney movie. I wave my hand, brightening the fire for Clary's sake. My heart is pounding. Demons, in packs, are dangerous to the angel-blooded. Nephilim, they kill. People like me? They torture, they break apart and sell the pieces of. Or, if they're feeling extra sadistic, they'll try to ruin as much of the angel as they can by doing things that makes my skin crawl.

There's only one other exit – a curved stone arch, at the apex of what was set a human skull between the V of two massive ornamental axes. Kind of like mine, but they aren't nearly as cool.

Past the arch, I can hear voices. I wonder if we're still in Paris, or if we slipped into another world entirely. What is Sebastian doing here? I shiver and continue walking.

"Arta," she whispers.

_Yeah? _

_If you need to . . . wait, I can do this on my own. I know this is worse for you than it is for me._

I smile, touched that she's this concerned for me. _Thanks, Fray. But I'm okay. I can teleport us outside any time._

We follow the voices, creeping along the side of the wall. Clary takes the lead, so her scent lies ahead of mine. The voices grow louder and louder, and in the eerie green light, I feel like I'm in hell.

A door opens suddenly to my left, and I almost yelp. I just barely manage to keep myself quiet. The voices are loud enough to where we can hear them clearly.

"_. . .not like his father,_" one says, the words raspy like sandpaper. _"Valentine would not deal with us at all. He would make slaves of us. This one will give us this world._"

Gee, I wonder who they're talking about.

Very slowly, I take Clary's hand, so I can see what she sees as she peers around the edge of the doorway. The room is bare, smooth-walled, and empty of all furniture. Inside is a group of demons, at least six or seven. My heart stutters in my chest, and I fear that will alert them of our presence. They are lizard-like, with scaly mud green skin with six octopus-like legs that make a dry, dragging sound as they move. Their heads are bulbous, alien-like, set with large black eyes.

"_That is, if you trust him._" I can't tell which once is talking. They don't have any mouths – just tentacles tremble as they speak. My stomach churns.

"_The Great Mother trusted him. He is her child._"

"_He is also Nephilim. They are our great enemies._"

"_They are his enemies as well. He bears the blood of Lilith._"

"_But the one he calls his companion bears the blood of our enemies. He is of the angels._" The word was spat with so much hate it feels like a prick to my heart. Jace. They're talking about Jace. They don't know about me. Is this why he hasn't been bringing me along? So the demons don't learn about me?

"_Lilith's child assures us he has him well in hand, and indeed he seems obedient._"

There's a dry, disgusting chuckle. "_You young ones are too consumed with worry. The Nephilim have long kept this world from us. Its riches are great. We will drink it dry and leave it as ashes. As for the angel boy, he will be the last of his kind to die. We will burn him on a pyre until he is only golden bones._"

Clary squeezes the ever-loving shit out of my hand, and I let out a quiet hiss.

The demon nearest to us jerks its head up. For a moment Clary freezes completely, trapped in its gaze.

And then I yank her back and we sprint back down the hallway. There's commotion behind us; the creatures screaming, the slithering, dry sound of them coming after us. I glance over my shoulder and my breathing doubles in pace – we aren't going to make it. I try teleporting us out, but something slams down against my shoulders, as if pushing me back to the earth. Magic? Demonic wards? I curse. We're screwed.

We reach the archway and I spin around, palming my axe. I start to manifest a machete for Clary – I can't manifest seraph blades – but she's already leapt up to catch hold of the top of the archway. She swings herself forward, slamming her boots into the first demon through, knocking it back. I laugh at the stupid shriek it makes. She catches hold of one of the ornamental axes and yanks. It sticks, and doesn't move.

"By the Angel," I sigh, and wave it lose for her.

She lands in an unsteady crouch just as the first demon bears down on her. I'm already there, swinging my axe, slicing cleanly through its head like hitting tennis ball. I glance over, watching Clary sink her axe into another demon's chest. It must have a heart, because it thrashes and squeals and vanishes with its next scream.

More come through the doorway and I shove Clary out of the way before it can bite her. It bites me instead, and I growl in irritation. _This is getting annoying. _I don't bother poisoning it, I twist my axe and bury the sharp edge of the hilt into its eye. It screams and jerks back, and I sink the edge into its heart. I don't bother waiting for it to explode; I move to the next demon. Time slows, my heart pounds, and I move as fast as I can without leaving Clary undefended. Even though she's perfectly capable of handling herself, there are an awful lot of demons.

I swing my axe, ready to bury it in the face of the next demon, but pain shoots up my arm where the demon bit me and my swing misses completely. I jerk backwards, falling on my ass. The demon rears back –

And out of nowhere a shimmering blade drives down, burying itself in the demon's skull. As I stare, the demon vanishes, and I see Sebastian, with a blazing seraph blade in his hand, ichor splattered across is white shirt. It's not the same one he went to bed with.

I don't waste time snapping at him. Somewhere off to my left, Clary stumbles, holding out her arm. I'm at her side in a flash. "Clary?"

"Her arm," he says when he reaches me.

There's a wound on her arm; a thick band of saucer-shaped wounds encircle it, where the demon's tentacles sucked hard at her skin. Already it's turning a sickening blue-black, like inked spilled beneath her skin.

I look up at him. "What do I do?" I bark.

He says nothing, he just pulls out his seraph blade and draws an _iratze _on her arm. "She was injected with some sort of deadly poison," he says. "What the hell were you two thinking? Coming here – being foolish enough to fight off six Dahak demons with an ornamental axe –"

"Technically, mine's real," I say, swirling it my palm and letting it vanish in a puff of smoke.

"Poison," Clary says. She blinks hard, and makes a face. "So I guess you didn't save my life after all, did you?"

He opens his mouth, but her hand spasms, and the axe slips from her grip, clattering to the floor. She starts to fall, but I catch her. She's not too heavy for me, but since my body is still healing, it won't supply extra strength for me. I pass her to Sebastian, who scoops her up in his arms as if she weighs nothing. She pushes feebly against his chest, and I want to snap at her that now is not the time. But her head tips back and her eyes close.

"Is she going to be alright?" I ask, trying not to sound hysterical.

"She should be," he says. "It takes more than that to kill a Morgenstern."

A chill skitters down my spine. "What were you doing down here, Sebastian?"

"Let's get out of here first," he says. "Before more of them show up."

I'm not happy, but I do what he says and follow him out of the demon's den and into the square courtyard. We exit through the small house and head down the street. Since he can't just lay her down there, I teleport us someplace I know – _Jardin du Luxembourg. _

"The Luxembourg Gardens," he comments as we sit down on one of the park benches.

"My dad brought me here once, when I was a kid," I say, sitting on the other side of Clary. Sebastian has her head propped up on his shoulder. "I was still learning life magic. I accidentally killed everything in the garden when I tried bringing back a dead butterfly."

He frowns. "I think at this point, it's more a matter of what you _can't _do, Angel."

I shake my head. "I can't bring people back from the dead. Insects and animals are easier. Their life forms aren't as complex as a humans'. Maybe, though, I'll learn someday. It's within my capabilities."

He seems impressed, and I wonder why I'm telling him this. If people found that out, it wouldn't matter if I actually knew how. They'd force me to burn all my energy trying to raise their dead.

No. Sebastian wouldn't make me do that.

"Are you angry with me, Arta?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Can I have a kiss?"

"Like hell," I snap, and he grins.

"I thought you said you weren't angry." He leans back against the bench, supporting Clary's head in his arm so she doesn't fall on the ground.

"Wouldn't you be pissed if _I _went sneaking around at five in the morning?" I demand.

"Aren't you going to ask me _why _I was out that early?"

"Oh yeah. But first I'm gonna yell at you."

"_You _yell at _me_?" His eyes narrow. "You snuck into a basement full of demons, Angel. Do you know what demons do to angels?"

I give him a look, and he makes an annoyed sound. "I mean real demons, Arta."

"Of course I do, you idiot. I grew up being told what would happen if I slipped outside on my own, if I didn't know how to protect myself when I was alone. I –"

"You saved Clary."

I stop short, startled by the sudden transition. "What?"

"I was coming down the hall when I saw you guys. A demon was going to bite her, and you got in the way. Granted, she still got bitten, but still. Two bites would have killed her for sure. So thank you."

I can't help it – I sneer at him. "She's more my friend than your sister, Sebastian. I don't know where you get the feeling that you need to be all big-brother to her, but it's stupid. She doesn't want it."

"She's my sister. I can't change that." He looks down at her. "We didn't grow up together, but I'm still her older brother. I might as well pick up where I can. She's the only family I have, Arta. The only family that hasn't –" He breaks off, and my sneer fades. Ah hell, how can I stay mad at him now?

I lean my head back on the bench. "She hates you, you know."

"I know. But I might as well try."

"Don't try too hard," I whisper, and he glances up. I blush and look away.

"We already talked about this, Arta –"

"I know, I know," I say. "But the idea of you with any other girl makes me, well, jealous. Like, drive a wrecking ball through your apartment kind of jealous. And the fact that it was my best friend, your sister –" I break off. "I get it. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"I don't blame you," he says quietly. "I'd be the same if it was you and your brother."

I've never been more grateful that I don't have a brother, so I don't have to deal with that image. "So why were you –"

Clary's eyes fly open, and her leg shoots out, kicking me in the stomach. I gasp, doubling over, as she frowns and inspects both her arms. Sebastian is laughing, and when she realizes she's in his arms, she jerks away from him.

"Are you alright, Angel?" he calls to me.

"Perfect," I grunt.

"Good thing your so short," he says, turning back to Clary. "If you were much taller, carrying you would have been extremely inconvenient."

"Where are we?" she demands.

"_Jardin du Luxembourg,_" he says. "It's a very nice park. We had to take you somewhere you could lie down, and the middle of the street didn't seem like a good idea."

"Yeah, there's a word for leaving someone to die in the middle of the street," she mutters. "Vehicular manslaughter."

"That's two words," I wheeze. "Damn it Clary, what kind of boots are you wearing?"

"I think it's only vehicular manslaughter if you run them over yourself," Sebastian muses. "Anyway, why would I leave you to die in the middle of the street after I went through all that effort to save your life?"

Her eyes narrow. "Why did you?"

"Why did I what?"

"Save my life."

"You're my sister."

I start to roll my eyes and tell her who actually saved her life, but I decide to just leave it as it is.

"You never cared that I was your sister before."

"Didn't I?" His eyes flit to me, then back to her. "Our father's dead," he says. "There are no other relatives. You and I, we are the last. The last of the Morgensterns. You . . . you are my only chance for someone whose blood runs in my veins too. Someone like me."

I soften, and he glances at me briefly. His gaze warms when he sees my smile. I guess he knows I've forgiven him.

"You knew we were following you," she says, and that gets my attention.

"Of course I did." My eyes fly back to him. He's looking anywhere but at me.

"And you let us. You let me – and Arta – waltz right into that demon den, with no problem."

"I wanted to see what you would do. And I admit, I didn't think you would follow me down there. You're braver than I thought. Both of you." An icy breeze blows through. He doesn't shiver, but his jaw tightens and I know he's cold. Wordlessly I manifest a scarf for him. He looks at me when he wraps it around himself, but I ignore him.

"Why are you dealing with demons?" Clary demands. She knows the answer, but I guess she wants to hear it straight from him. "I heard them talking about you. I know what you're doing –"

"No you don't." His grin vanishes. "Those weren't the demons I was dealing with, those were their guards. They aren't as informed as their masters – they just repeat whatever gossip they come across. It was the Greater Demon I was meeting with.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" she demands. "You're meeting with an awful lot of Greater Demons, _brother._" She says the word like mockery, and Sebastian's eyes narrow.

"I'm just trying to tell you the truth."

"No wonder you look like you're in pain." Not necessarily true. Sebastian looks perfectly tranquil – he's already been through this in detail with me. Now I guess he's going to give the lay down to Clary in detail.

"I thought you said you were going to give me a chance," he says. "I'm not who I was when you met me in Alincante. Besides, I'm not the only person who believed in Valentine. He was my father. _Our _father. It's not easy to doubt the things you've grown up believing."

She crosses her arms. "Well, that's true."

"Valentine was wrong," he says firmly. "He died because he angered Raziel. Because he forgot the mission of Shadowhunters. And that is to kill demons. That is our mandate. Surely you must have heard that more and more demons have been spilling into our world?"

And then he tells her everything, all his plans. How more demons have been crawling into the world, the Clave's blindness to it, and his plans to slaughter the Greater Demons to get their attention, to show them what he can do and how he can help. By the end of it, Clary's expression is unreadable. Not complete distaste like usual, but something else. Does she finally trust him?

She stumbles then, and that's when I realize it's because of her bite. I steady her. "You alright, Clary?"

She looks at me a little pointedly, keeping her face out of Sebastian's view. It takes me a moment to realize she wants me to initiate a mental chat, since she can't start it.

_What?_

_Teleport me home. I need to do something. _

I don't bother asking – we don't have time. _Say you're not feeling well._

"I'm just . . . tired," she says, her voice drowsy.

"You need rest. I'll teleport you back," I say. I glance at Sebastian. "The apartment is still in the same place, right?"

He nods.

Good. I hold her hand, and we teleport back to the house. The moment I make sure she gets through the door, I come back to Sebastian, who hasn't moved an inch since I left.

"Is she going to be okay?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah, she just needs to sleep it off, I guess. So what do you want to do now?"

He smiles crookedly. "Since we're here . . . I want to show you a favorite place of mine."


	14. Chapter 14

14

It's beautiful here; the autumn air is crisp and cool, mixed with the scent of small cars passing back and forth on narrow roads. Sebastian is quieter than usual, and even when I lace our fingers together, his grip isn't tight. The only sign I have that he even notices my presence is when he takes his scarf off and wraps it around my neck when a chilly breezes passes through.

I tsk. "You know, if I was cold, I could have just manifested one for myself."

"You looked cold," is all he says.

I sigh and pull his hand so he stops. "What's wrong?"

"Do you think I am like Valentine?"

His question wipes the smile from my face. "What?"

"Just answer it."

I want to say "no" without hesitation, but I can't. Sure, they look alike – same pale blonde hair, same set in their jaw – and sometimes, when Sebastian is angry or in a cold, black mood, I can see his father in his features. I've heard Valentine speak, I've seen the way he corrupts the masses. Sebastian can do that too, if he wanted. But he doesn't. He was raised to be Valentine reincarnated in a tenfold. But he isn't.

"You are, in some ways," I say finally. "In others, you aren't."

"That's a nice way to word it," he says dryly.

"No, listen. I don't think I've ever managed to get this out clearly, but you _are_ Valentine's blood. You were raised by him. Of course there are going to be similarities; in your features, in your walk, and in your talk. But there's . . . okay, forgive me for being cliché, but there is good in you. And I don't mean a tiny little dot. I mean a lot of good. A mini sun. And I know it's there, because if you didn't have any, then you couldn't have fallen in love with me."

"What makes you say that?"

I give his hand a gentle squeeze. "Evil corrupts. Evil hates. Evil destroys. Good makes amends. Good loves. Good rebuilds what is broken." I take a step forward, and press my hand over his heart. "You tried making up with Clary, didn't you? You love me, don't you? And you're trying to fix the Clave – rebuild it into something better."

His eyes soften then, and I feel him tighten his hand around mine. Not too hard; gently, so it's not just me holding on. "You know, I hated Clary when I first met her. I thought she was going to be like me, but she wasn't. She looks at me as if I'm wearing Valentine's face over my own. I hate being looked at that way. And yet Jace, raised the same way, she looks at like a god."

"You two are different –"

"What, because he's the angel boy?" His smile is dry. "Valentine loved him more. He loved Jace for reasons I couldn't conform to. For reasons I didn't _want _to conform to. Jocelyn's touch is how he learned piano, about books and art and music. And me, her own son, she did nothing for."

His bitterness makes me ache. I want to fix it, but I can't. I can't go back into the past and snap at Valentine for being a shitty father, nor can I get angry at Jocelyn for hating Sebastian. She hated herself for that, enough to be its own punishment.

"She wanted to love you," I say quietly. "She hated herself for not being able to."

"I'll send her my sympathies," he spits out. "The first words I ever really heard from my mother was her wish – her one wish, that she had killed me when I was a baby." He tilts his head to the sky and grins wide. "Looks like my father had a weakness for the weak."

I clench my teeth. "His weakness is my benefit."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Yes, you idiot. I love you. And I will love you enough to make up for Clary, for Jace, for Jocelyn, for Valentine, and everyone else in between. Don't you understand?"

"So you intend to love me as a child and a brother?" But he's smiling now, and it's a real smile. "You're like me, you know."

"How?"

He shrugs and smiles. "You just are, Angel. In little ways. But more ways than anyone else."

I roll my eyes and take his hand, but inside I'm blushing. "Are you going to show me your favorite place or not?"

He laughs and kisses me; a soft kiss that lingers on my lips. Before I know it, we find ourselves in a narrow alley between two rows of buildings made of the same golden stone as many of the other buildings of Paris, their roofs sparkling copper-green in the sunlight. The street underfoot is cobblestone, and there are no cars or motorcycles or anything of the sort. To my left is a café, a wooden sign dangling from a slanted iron pole the only clue that there are any commercial business on this winding street.

"I like it here," he says, eyes wandering. "It's like being in a past century. No noise of cars, no neon lights. Just – peaceful."

I smirk. "I didn't know you were old-fashioned, Sebastian."

"Says the girl who's been alive for almost seventy years."

"Well when you put it like that, it makes me sound like a cougar."

"I knew it," he says, accusatory. "You're only after me for my youthful innocence."

I bark out a laugh. "Sebastian Morgenstern, youthfully innocent. That's like calling the Seelie Queen kind."

"You don't like the Queen?"

"I despise her, actually," I admit. "And I'm 99% sure that her hair is dyed."

He laughs. "Come on. This place has the best hot chocolate in all of Paris."

I wasn't quite sure about that – I have had many a-great hot chocolates in my lifetime – but once I sat down and had a taste, I have to admit, it was good. They make it at your table, in a blue ceramic pot using cream, chocolate powder, and sugar. The resulting cocoa is so thick my spoon stands up in it. They have croissants, too, and I tear off pieces and dunk it into the hot chocolate.

"I've never seen anyone eat anything so . . . delicately." He mimics the way I tear the bread and dips it in the cup with the most exaggerated movements, using only his thumb and forefinger.

I roll my eyes. "I do this for your sake, love of mine. If I tear off bits, I can still manage to look dainty while eating. If I dip the whole thing in, chocolate will dribble down my chin, over my fingers, and I'll end up stuffing my face because of how good this stuff tastes." I pause. "That rhymed."

"God, you're so pretentious." He grins wide.

I roll my eyes. "What was that you said to me earlier? 'I learned to play the instruments of war, and paint in blood'." I try to mimic his voice, but it comes out low and scratchy.

"I was being poetic. You love poetic."

"I do. Now are you gonna eat that second croissant?"

"You know, if you want another croissant, they'll bring you one," he says, but he gives me his anyway.

I tear off a piece, dip it in the chocolate, and reach over. "Open your mouth."

"You're not baby-feeding me, Angel."

"Oh yes I am. Open your mouth."

He narrows his eyes, but there's a playful spark in them. "Make me."

I rest my elbows on the table and smile innocently at him. "Remember yesterday? After the movie and we were in your room . . ."

His smile fades. "Yes?"

"Remember that thing? With the pillows and the cherry syrup?"

The spark is crushed by black fire. "And the ice cubes?"

I nod, biting my lip. "We can do that again . . . if you want."

"Give me the croissant."

We make it through two croissants, but only because we end up playing a game that probably made the poor girl at the register a little uncomfortable. She ends up vanishing into the kitchen, and I can't help but feel guilty.

"You didn't get all of it," I tease, flashing up my forefinger and middle finger in a peace sign. There are still traces of hot chocolate on them, and I lick the tip of my middle finger clean.

Before I can react, he's leaning over the table with my stained hand in his own. He glances up at me from under his lashes and smirks. "My apologies."

And then he takes my forefinger in his mouth and suckles the chocolate from it.

Let me tell you, I did not think finger-sucking could ever be a turn on. But the moment I feel his tongue touch my forefinger and his teeth against my skin, a small jolt runs through my body, and I let out a little gasp.

He lets me go and laughs, settling back into his chair. "Anymore games, Angel?"

"Um." I stop then, and an idea comes to me. A great one, actually. "Yes, I do. Not that kind, though."

I see the barest flicker of disappointment in his eyes, and I grin. "Oh come on, Sebby. It'll be fun. I promise."

"'Sebby?'"

I shrug. "Well, you've coined Angel. I need a nickname for you, too."

"And Sebby is what you came up with?"

"I never said I was creative," I say, waving a hand.

He smiles. "I never said you weren't."

* * *

The afternoon sun is bright and sets the tips of the trees aflame. I picked a nice, expansive forest somewhere in Romania, where my mother taught me how to hunt wild deer. There's a small beautiful spot she created for us to sit down and have lunch, and it remains there today. It's a small piece of land at the base of a hill, consisting of a black pond and a massive weeping willow that acts as an umbrella that could house an elephant. That's where we go.

"Your mother made this?" he asks, peering up. The leaves act as a curtain of vines, letting in a few streams of golden light, and tower so tall it feels like we're inside a leafy dome.

I nod. "She mastered plant life. My father mastered animal. I've had the same pet dog for my entire life because of it."

His hands wrap around my waist and he bends down, kissing my cheek. He starts to kiss my lips, but I have to push him away. If I start now, it'll be morning before we get done what we came here to do.

I wave my hand and a black, glossy shape solidifies from dark dust, fitting neatly beneath the willow. A small black bench appears in front of it, and I sit down on the left side.

Sebastian stares at me. His expression is blank. "A piano."

I pat the space beside me. "Come sit."

"I can't play," he says, but does what I ask.

"I know," I say gently. "I was thinking about what you said, about Jocelyn not teaching you anything of the arts, so I decided to take that duty upon myself."

He smiles wryly. "You're going to teach me how to play piano?"

"Granted, I can't teach you in one sitting. But I can definitely teach you how to play a song."

I manifest the music sheets for one of my favorite pieces – Fire, by Brian Crain – and go through the cords and note names, showing him the corresponding keys for each note on the sheet. Sebastian has a good memory, and we get through the basics easily enough. I don't bother teaching him about rests and how many counts each note gets because I want us to have time to play.

"I'll run through it first, okay?" I say. "Just so you know what it sounds like."

Sebastian doesn't have to step off the bench – I wave my hand and the keys shift down, so I can play from the left and not play an octave lower than what the song requires. I don't bother glancing at the sheet – I have it memorized. I play it through, fully aware that he's staring at me as I do so. At some point, I stop noticing him and focus entirely on the song.

When my finger lifts off the last key, he applauds slowly. "Who taught you?"

"My father," I say.

He smiles slyly. "Is it a natural born tendency for angel-blooded men to know how to play the piano?"

"Obviously not," I say, poking his bicep. "You're also Nephilim, remember?"

He doesn't say anything, and for a moment I worry I've ruined the moment. I quickly jump into the song. "I'm only teaching you the right hand. I'll do the left."

He nods. His eyes are fixed on the glossy black.

We run through the first few notes. His fingers are long like Jace's but not as nimble. He stumbles over a few notes, and I can see his frustration building.

"Keep pace, Sebastian," I say gently. "The first few notes are mostly just sharps."

As we ease into it, he starts to get the hang of it. Slowly, he stops using me as a guide and reads from the sheet, translating the dots to sounds with his hands. Granted, he trips once or twice, but he manages to run through the right hand part perfectly after only six run-throughs.

"Damn," I say in disbelief. "How did you do that?"

He seems pleased with himself. "Do what?"

"Learn it that fast. It took me a whole day just to get the right hand side."

"I guess I'm just a natural," he smirks. "Come on, you play too."

My father tried teaching my mother how to play the piano, but she never got the hang of it. She was a violin woman – that was something she took to pretty quickly, thanks the help of one of her friends. Gem or Jen something like that. At some point, after trying to teach each other how to play one of Beethoven's pieces on each other's instruments, they came to a halfway point: Dad played the piece on the piano, and Mom played it on the violin. And ever since then, they always learn and play new music together.

Now I understand why. It's _fun. _Sure, it takes us a few times to synchronize, and at some point I almost shove him over because he keeps speeding up at the same place even though I tell him not to, but once it clicks – it's beautiful. Our interlaced hands rest between us as our free hands send a sickly sweet melody through the air. But more or less, just watching him play, seeing the quiet happiness in his eyes as he listens to the beauty he's creating, makes me feel almost giddy with joy. I did that. I made him happy. I put that spark in his eyes.

"Let's learn another," he says, once we've finished playing it at least three or four times.

I frown. "It's getting a little late, Sebastian." Already the sun has vanished, and the moon casts a glow over the lake, it's full silver circle partly illuminating my boyfriend's face.

He nods. "You're right."

"Did you like it?" I ask, pulling the cover over the keys so I can rest my elbows on the piano without creating a sharp sound.

"I loved it, actually." He smiles at me, and my heart pounds. That smile, his genuinely happy smile, makes him look so handsome that it takes my breath away. And it just hits me then, as it did when he gazed into my eyes the first night after we made love, when he whispered sweet, dirty things in my ear – this boy loves me. This handsome, broken, brilliant boy loves me. _Me. _He's mine, and I am his.

He frowns. "What is it?"

I shake my head. "Ah, nothing. We should . . . we should get back."

I start to get up, but his hand closes around my wrist suddenly and he yanks me back down, right into his arms. He catches me, and I gaze up into his eyes, startled. There's wicked intent in the depths of those black abysses, and he brings his lips to my ear. "Get on your knees."

A rush of excitement skitters through me and I start to get up, but he shakes his head. "On the bench. Facing the piano. Open it."

He gets up, and I center myself in the middle of the bench. I push the cover open, mildly confused. What is he doing?

He rests his hands on my hips, drawing me back against him. I can feel his erection against my ass, and I make the bench shorter so we fit together easier. His right hand moves around my hips, to the front of my dress. Without a word he hikes it up, so the front of my panties is exposed, and he gently traces his fingers over the thin material, making me shiver. His hand dips a little lower, flicking the most sensitive part of me, and I hiss in a breath. He chuckles, and moves to the hem. "You know why I love it when you wear dresses?" he murmurs.

"W-why?" I try to keep my voice steady, but the anticipation is killing me.

"Because I can do this." He dips his hand inside my panties and starts to play. I groan, letting my head fall on his shoulder. He holds me easily as he rubs my clit in smooth, strong circles. His teeth graze the cuff of my earlobe, tracing the curve with his tongue before tilting my head up with his free hand so he can kiss me. I kiss him back eagerly, sighing as he bites my lower lip, suckles it, and lets go.

"Play the song," he says in my ear. "Right hand side."

My shaky hands move to the piano, and I do as he says. His hand stills against me, making it easier to play. I get about five notes in before he glide his finger through my folds and teases my slit. My hands stumble over the keys as I gasp, and his fingers still.

"Not one mistake, Angel," he purrs. "I want you to play the entire song. If you slip up, just – one – bit –" With each word, he lets his finger glide in and out of me. "Then you start over. And I won't let you come."

"You wicked boy," I gasp, and he laughs. It's a dark, lovely sound, and it sends a pleasant spark through my body.

He kisses the curve of my neck and I start playing. As soon as I do, his fingers resume their work. I clench my teeth, trying to keep my hands steady. And I can manage, for the most part, easily, since this is just the beginning. He quickens pace just a bit, and my fingers stumble through the next few notes, blurring them together. But I didn't miss one or hit a wrong one, and so he keeps going.

It gets harder. My breath hitches, and I slip up at least three times, causing him to come to an abrupt stop and forcing me to start all over again. It's a damn four-minute song, and it's taking me over twenty minutes to get through.

His finger glides inside me, and I throw my head back with a cry, slamming my finger down on one key. But it isn't a slip, and they trip over the next three notes before hitting a wrong sharp and stilling his hands.

I let out a sharp wine. "Sebastian!"

"Now, now, Angel," he chides. "No music, no pleasure. Keep going."

I whine again. Before I can start, he tears through my panties and tosses them aside. He spreads my legs so he can finger fuck me while playing with my clit. It's torture, and my fingers are trembling. The music sounds horrible, but at least I'm not slipping up as much as I was before. I hit two correct sharps, and he nibbles at my neck. I start into the next melody, and he adds a second finger and fucks me faster. I glide through a stanza almost perfectly, and he curls his fingers inside me and rubs my clit harder.

I hit a wrong note, and he stops.

"Sebastian!" I scream finally, slamming my fists into the keys. "I can't – I can't do it." That last word ends in a gasp as he makes circles with the two fingers inside me.

"Can't you?" he murmurs. Suddenly his hands vanish, and I'm left feeling empty as he reaches forward with his hand, the one he fucked me with, still glistening slightly as he pulls the cover of the piano down.

"I love watching you squirm, Angel," he breathes. I can hear him sliding his zipper down, but nothing else. He's leaving his clothes on.

He reaches forward and eases the hem of my dress up and over my head. He tosses it aside, then unclasps my bra and does the same with that. He then bends me forward so I have one hand resting over the cover, the other gripping the top of the piano. The cold night air tickles my naked body, and I shiver.

I can feel the tip of him in the entrance of my slit. Having him pressed up against me while he's fully clothed and I'm naked is, well, turning me on.

"It's a full moon tonight," he says softly, resting his hands on my hips, his long fingers digging into my skin. "You know what wolves do under the full moon?"

"They h-howl?" I gasp out.

"They scream," he says, and slams into me.


	15. Chapter 15

15

That morning I wake up beneath the willow, me wrapped up in his arms. He's still asleep, pale lashes fluttered over the hollows beneath his eyes, his mouth settled in a peaceful line. Most people look sweet and childlike in sleep, but not Sebastian. He still looks beautiful, but in an untouchable way. Like a flawless marble bust of a cold fallen angel.

I blink. I'm worse than Clary.

I sweep a lock of pale hair aside and stretch as far as I can in his arms to press a kiss to his forehead. When I pull away, his eyes are open and he's watching me. His lips curl in a wry smile. "Good morning."

I nuzzle his neck and curl up against his chest, and he adjusts, fitting me against his body. "Good morning," I mumble sleepily. We curve against each other perfectly, as we always have. Our hearts were meant to intertwine.

"Just so you know," I murmur. "I'm never going to be able to look at a piano the same way again."

He laughs, and the sound makes me smile despite myself. He has the sexiest laugh. "I don't think –"

"What's wrong with pianos?"

I have very fast reflexes, but Sebastian is quicker than I am. He has a blade in one hand and shields me with his body, tucking me against his side, away from the figure who parts the curtain of leaves.

"Who are you?" Sebastian snarls.

The figure takes a step back, and when the sun hits his back, I see his long, white wings.

My eyes widen. "Zeb?" Then I realize what I'm wearing – well, what I'm _not _wearing – and quickly manifest a sweatshirt and shorts for myself.

Zeb frowns. "Why were you –" Then it seems to dawn on him what we must have done last night, and his eyes widen. "You did the –"

"Zeb, hon, why are you here?" I ask, putting a hand on Sebastian's arm, the one with the weapon.

He doesn't seem capable of saying anything. He just stares at us in mild confusion, and I realize this is probably the equivalence of a four-year-old walking in on his sister and her boyfriend the morning after. Only Zeb is smarter than that.

"Zeb, can you give me a sec?" I ask gently. "I'll be out in a bit."

He nods and quickly shuts the curtain and spins around, facing away from us. I untangle myself from Sebastian's arms and stand, brushing myself off. My legs are wobbly, and I'm a little sore. I don't know if I can even walk.

He glances at the curtain with slight distaste. "So that's the angel?"

I nod. "His name is Zeb – he's a sweetheart. He isn't a full angel. He's got a bit of human in him."

"Did you two ever…date?"

I laugh and shake my head. "We grew up together for a few years. He's just a close friend, I promise. He's like a child to me."

That seems to make him relax. He stands, puts away the blade, and follows me as we step outside. Zeb is standing at the edge of the pond, and when he hears us coming he turns and looks at anything but Sebastian.

"So what's up?" I ask.

"I wanted to check up on you," he says to me. "I ran into Clary – she was with a Nephilim boy and I asked where you were and she said she had no idea. Only that you were with . . ."

"Me." Sebastian's voice is smooth, like the flat of a blade. "Her boyfriend."

I try not to grin. "Was there something you needed?"

_Barbatos is dead. _"Ah, well, you left your camera with me."

I stiffen, and Sebastian notices. He glances at me, and I quickly manifest a small bug and pull it from my sleeve, acting as if it bit me.

"Oh really?" I frown. "I thought I forgot something." _What do you mean he's dead?_

"I meant to bring it but I . . ." _He was found murdered in his home. His daughter went to the Clave. _

"What?" _Why? They wouldn't care._

_She said he was killed by a someone who would become a common enemy. Her father's own prediction. _

"I'm waiting," I say, when Zeb takes too long to reply verbally. Sebastian doesn't seem to know we're talking mentally; he seems bored. _What are you saying, Zeb?_

"I . . . lost it." _She said it was a spurned customer, one who had visited him previously and was turned away. The same customer came back a few days ago and Barbatos still refused to answer his question, but he did tell them something else. Something that deeply angered said customer. He was killed for it._

Something black settles in my gut. I peer up at Sebastian, at his blank, bored expression, and find my heart pounding. I let out a breath. "It's alright. I can manifest a new one." _Who was the customer?_

_Sebastian. _He looks at me then, his white eyes apologetic. "I am sorry." _I wanted to warn you._

"I said it's alright." I didn't mean to snap.

Sebastian glances down at me then, and wraps an arm around me. "Are you alright, Angel?"

"I'm fine." I say stiffly. My body won't lean into his, and he notices. But I can't bring myself to do anything. "Is that all?"

"For now." His eyes flit to Sebastian, and even though we can't see it, I can feel the disappointment in them. Not for me, but for him. For not being as good as I made him out to be. "If you need me, just call my name. I will hear."

And then he's gone, leaving nothing but a white feather in his wake.

* * *

I never asked Sebastian about Barbatos. I didn't want to think about it. And when I did, my mind came up with dozens of excuses. Sebastian doesn't have a temper, but he used to do things like this all the time. He just slipped up once is all. We all have flaws. Barbatos probably said something to piss him off, and if you make someone angry enough, of course they'll do things they regret. But when I look at him, I see no regret. None at all.

But as the days pass, my worry dissolves. He proves to me he's my Sebastian. He took me to Champs Elysees, where we spent an entire night walking down the streets, sharing food. We went out in a rowboat to watch fireworks late one night, and went skinny dipping afterwards. And finally, I managed to convince him to come to Disneyworld with me. Granted, we went while it was closed and I had to use a bit of magic to keep anyone from noticing us, but it was worth it. We broke into Cinderella's Castle and slept there that night.

And this night, coming home after spending all day sparring for fun, we collapsed in bed finally, too tired to even change. I lay tangled in his sheets and his arms, blissfully content.

But good things don't last forever.

"_Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern!_"

My eyes fly open. Clary. "That was Clary," I whisper.

Sebastian is already on his feet, and I follow hastily, grabbing my shorts and one of his knives as I follow him out the door. He doesn't bother running down the stairs; he flips himself over, landing in front of Clary. I follow, standing at his side.

She looks shaken. I've never seen her look more so. Jace stands in front of her, holding a cup that looks hauntingly familiar to the Mortal Cup in one hand. He looks shocked to his core. My heart stutters – his aura is different. So is his gaze. When he sees me, my hand tangled in Sebastian's, the brief anger and betrayal in his golden eyes lets me know what I suspected from the moment I glanced at him.

He's back to normal.

"Lover's spat?" Sebastian inquires dryly. I put my knife away.

Clary's voice trembles as she speaks. "His rune's damaged. Here." She put her hand over her heard. "He's trying to get back, to give himself up to the Clave –"

Sebastian's hand shoots out and grabs the Cup out of Jace's hand. He slams it down on the kitchen counter. The sound makes me flinch. Jace, white with shock, doesn't move a muscle as Sebastian yanks his hand from my grip and takes him by the front of the shirt. The top buttons on his shirt pop open, baring his collar, and Sebastian slashes the point of his stele across it, gashing an _iratze_ into the skin. Jace bites down on his lip, his eyes full of pure, unadulterated hatred as Sebastian releases him and steps back, stele in hand.

I'm honestly too stunned to do anything. I could save him, possibly. I could have stopped Sebastian. But I stand there, heart racing, and slowly turn to look at Clary.

_What have you done? _I whisper to her.

Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

"Honestly, Jace," he says. "The idea that you thought you could get away with something like this just knocks me out."

Jace's hands tighten into fists as the _iratze, _black as charcoal, begins to sink into his skin. His words slip out breathlessly, angrily. "Next time . . . you want to be knocked out . . . I'd be happy to help you. Maybe with a brick."

_He hasn't changed, Arta. Sebastian is the same._ Even mentally, her voice is laced with quiet pain.

My blood chills.

_He wants to raise Lilith. He wants to mix her blood in a cup and create an army of dark Nephilim. He wants to be Jonathan Shadowhunter reincarnated, but on the side of the demons, not the angels. He wants a war, Arta. He's convinced he will win it. And even Jace doesn't think he won't. _

_He hasn't changed. _Her words feel like poison to me, crippling my senses, burning my chest. Bile rises in my throat, but I force it down.

"You'll thank me later," Sebastian tsks, as if this, taking away Jace's free will, is nothing to him. "Even you have to admit this death wish of yours is a little extreme."

Jace doesn't snap back at him. His gaze travels slowly down Sebastian's face. For that moment, there is only the two of them in this room, and when Jace speaks, his words are cold and clear. "I won't remember this later," he says. "But you will. That person who acts like your friend –" He takes a step forward, closing the space between them. I find myself at Clary's side, my hands trembling. "That person who acts like they _like _you. That person isn't real. This is real. This is me. And I hate you. I will always hate you. And there is no magic and no spell in this world or any other that will ever change that."

For a moment, the grin on Sebastian's face wavers. I feel sick, because a part of me is angry at Jace for upsetting him.

Jace turns to us, and his eyes fall on Clary. "I need you to know," he says. "the truth. I didn't tell you all of the truth."

"The truth is dangerous," says Sebastian, holding his stele before him like a knife. "Be careful what you say."

He's talking about me, I realize with a surge of anger. He doesn't want Jace to reveal his real plan in front of me.

Jace doesn't really give a damn, I can tell. His chest rises and falls rapidly; it's clear that the healing of the rune on his chest is causing him physical pain. "The plan," he says. "To raise Lilith, to make a new Cup, to create a dark army with her blood – that wasn't Sebastian's plan. _It was mine._"

Clary and I both freeze. She speaks first. "What?"

"Sebastian knew what he wanted," says Jace. "But I figured out how he could do it. A new Mortal Cup – I gave him that idea." He jerks in pain, and I can see it in my head, Lilith's wound sealing over, becoming whole again. "Or, should I say, _he _did. That thing that looks like me but isn't? He'll burn down the world if Sebastian wants him to, and laugh while he's doing it. That's what you're saving Clary. _That. _Don't you understand? I'd rather be dead –"

He breaks off then, and his breaths are labored. His eyes flash to me, and I'm pinned in place by the ferocity of those golden fires. "Don't trust him," he says, and my blood runs cold. "He's evil, Arta. He can't love anyone. He can't love you. He doesn't love you, he's using you –"

Sebastian's hand flies out and a loud, painful _slap! _rings through the air. Jace is on the ground, on his hands and knees. Sebastian stands over him, breathing heavily, blood on his palm. He doesn't look up as he watches Jace double over. The muscles in the fallen boy's shoulders tighten as ripples of pain go through him.

And then he looks up, expression bewildered. "What's going on?"

It's more painful than I realized, watching this. My friend, trapped in the body of Sebastian's pet.

Sebastian grins, as if he hadn't just slapped the shit out him a few second ago. "Welcome back."

Jace blinks, looking momentarily confused. His gaze slides inward, the way it did whenever Clary or I tried to bring up something that he couldn't process – Max's murder, the war in Alincante, the pain he was causing his family.

"Is it time?" he says.

Sebastian makes a show of looking at his watch. "Just about. Why don't you go on ahead and we'll follow? You can start getting things ready."

Jace glances around. "The Cup – where is it?"

Sebastian takes it off the kitchen counter. "Right here. Feeling a little absentminded?"

Jace's mouth curls at the corner, and he grabs the Cup back. Good-naturedly. There's no sign of the boy who had stood in front of Sebastian moments ago and told him he hated him. "All right. I'll meet you there." He turns to Clary, who is still frozen in shock, and kisses her cheek. "And you."

He winks at her, then nods to me. Clary's expression betrays nothing as she watches her boyfriend crosses the room and vanishes through the wall. It hurts her, I know; I can feel her anguish, as if its tangible in the air between us.

I think then, and think hard, through my grief. It all depends on what I do now, it seems. What started out as a rescue mission will end as a rescue mission – I came here to learn Sebastian, and I have learned.

I grin easily then, my coldness taking over for me. "Well that was awkward."

I see the slightest flash of relief in his eyes as he grins and pulls me into his chest, kissing me. I grab him by the collar and kiss him back, letting myself sink into him once more, breathe him in once more, before pulling away.

"So you know the plan then," he says.

"Not all of it," I shrug. "I don't know what's happening tonight. What did Jace mean when he said 'It's time'?"

He leans down and kisses my forehead, and it burns, like a brand between my eyes. "You'll find out," he says. "You've earned the right to be there, Angel. And you, Clarissa." He looks at his sister. "You called for _me. _You will both watch it all from your places at my side, tonight, at the Seventh Sacred Sight. _Both _of Valentine's children, together. At last." He turns to me then. "And you, my Angel, as my queen."


	16. Chapter 16

16

_To love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be destroyed._

I sit on Sebastian's bed, looking at the dress he laid out for me with glossy eyes. It's a luscious red color, similar to the designs of most of the dresses I usually wear. I snap my fingers lazily, in a lifeless movement. The dress is on my body now, and I stand and look at it in my full-body mirror. It's beautiful, of course. He wouldn't have me wear anything less. It rests above my knees in ruffles decorated with black runes, making it look almost princess-like with the matching black bow wrapped around the waist. The top half is a work of art, flattering my curves and settling over my bust in a sexy yet somehow still modest way. There is no neckline, rather, it looks like the top of the dress clings to my body, like moss to a tree or a spill of color to a canvas. Or like blood, to white tile.

I found the ring in his drawer. Clary's ring. It was beside the box of his baby things, stolen from Jocelyn's house. I opened the box, looking at the objects inside, and for a moment, it felt like Jocelyn's sorrow seeped from it and clung to me. The Sebastian she lost, the one Valentine broke – Jonathan, he would have been called. Would I have loved that boy the same?

I can't defend him anymore. Not just because of what I found out, but because of Barbatos's words. _The boy has never been loved before. Don't be surprised when what comes, comes. _This was inevitable. Sebastian is a storm, and storms do not change. They are forces of nature, and it is in their nature to destroy. Me, Clary, Jace, and anyone who gets in his way.

"You look beautiful."

I turn then, and see him, standing in the threshold. I must not have heard him knock, and he came in because he was worried. Or maybe he didn't knock at all, didn't care to give me that privacy.

For the first time, he wears something other than black and white. The same black trousers and boots, admittedly, but he's also wearing a scarlet leather tunic, intricately worked with gold and silver runes, and held together by a row of metal clasps across the front. There are hammered silver bracelets on each of his wrists, and he wears the Morgenstern ring.

"What's with all the red?" I ask, surprised at how easy my voice comes out.

"It's ceremonial," he replies, walking to me. He stands behind me, and pulls me into his arms in front of the mirror. I see our reflection and immediately cast my eyes downwards. We look beautiful, yes. Sebastian looks like a young king short of a crown. And I, as he promised, am his rising queen. His bloody angel. "Colors mean different things to Shadowhunters than they do to humans." He says the word "humans" with contempt. "You know the old Nephilim children's rhyme, don't you?

_Black for hunting through the night_

_For death and sorrow, the color's white._

_Gold for a bride in her wedding gown,_

_And red to call enchantment down._"

"Shadowhunters marry in gold?" I find myself asking.

"Sorry to crush your dreams of a white wedding." He grins at me. "Speaking of which . . ."

He turns me around then, and I don't see evil Sebastian; the one who slapped Jace, lied to me, and killed Barbatos. I see my Sebastian. His eyes are warm, and so full of love that it leaves me breathless. His love for me is genuine, I know that now. But love won't make up for what he's done, and what he will do. "_He has ended countless lives, and will continue to end more,_" Barbatos had said. Did he foresee his own death?

"I saw Clary wearing Jace's Morgenstern ring," he says, sliding his own from his finger. "I thought it was a silly custom, but after spending time with you, my Angel, I know it belongs on your finger." He takes my left hand, and slips it on my ring finger. My chest aches.

"I'll get you something prettier for this hand one day," he whispers. "You can wear it above the Morgenstern ring."

"A wedding ring, you mean," I say numbly.

He smiles then, and laces our fingers together, drawing me close. "I may not consider myself Nephilim, but my father's Shadowhunter blood flows through my veins, beside my mother, Lilith's. Shadowhunters don't form attachments like mundanes do. The bonds between us tend to be intense and unbreakable. No different between lovers. That's why Valentine spent the rest of his life waiting to find Jocelyn again. That's why I know, Angel, that there's no one for me but you."

If I don't cry now, I will soon. I suck in a breath, steadying my voice so it doesn't crack when I speak. "I never did tell you about how my kind works. How we love."

He brushes a strand of hair from my face. "Tell me."

"It's similar to the reason why Nephilim love so strongly. We are more angel-blooded; we love so strongly we can only love once. And whom we fall in love with – that love lasts for eternity." My eyes close. "I love you Sebastian, and I will never love again after you."

"There won't be an after me," he says. "I won't die. I'll make sure of it. I won't leave you. Never."

His words are determined and fierce and make my heart weep. That's exactly what I'm afraid of. Just like his father to Jocelyn, he will never let me go. I have to leave now, then, while he is distracted, and I have the strength to.

"Do I have enough time to fix my hair?" I ask sheepishly.

He grins. "You look fine, Angel."

"Words won't fix my hair," I say. "Ten minutes. That's all I need, I swear."

"No more than ten," he says, and kisses me strongly before walking out the door.

The moment he's gone, I clench my fists hard. I want to drop the ground and cry, but I don't have time for that. I only have ten minutes. I wave my hand, returning my bed sheets to their original white color. I disintegrate my clothes from the closet, along with the gifts he gave me. I start to do the same to the ring, but I can't. Instead I slip it from my finger and leave it on the desk. I manifest a copy and wear that. A reminder.

_Clary? _

Her response is immediate. _I was worried – _

_I'm leaving. Are you coming with me?_

She pauses in surprise. _What?_

_I'm leaving, _I repeat. _Come with me. We can still get away before Sebastian – _

_I can't, Arta. He still has Jace._

I close my eyes. _Clary, you may not have another chance. _

_I have to save Jace. It's what I came here to do. He's this way again because of me, Arta. Because I wouldn't let him do what was right – give himself up to the Clave._

I smile bitterly. _We've all been weak for love before. It's alright, Fray. You're strong. If you need help, call Zeb. He'll get you out._

_And you? Are you . . . alright?_

_Just peachy. And by the way, your faerie ring is in Sebastian's drawer. _I look down at my dress. _Whatever Sebastian does tonight, I won't help him. _I am of the angels, and angels do not raise demons. They're supposed to save them, as I have failed to do. All I have to blame is myself. Barbatos told me I could save Sebastian. And I thought love would do it. But it will take something else, something stronger.

Something I don't have.

_I'll see you soon, okay?_ she says softly.

_You got it. _I close my eyes, and we disconnect. I suck in a deep breath and wave my hand, opening the front door. I blink hard, clearing my eyes, and step towards it.

"Artemis?"

I freeze where I am, and the door closes. I turn slowly, and there stands Sebastian, at my door, with a look of . . . I don't know. Surprise? Confusion? Fear?

"Hey, Sebby," I say quietly.

"Angel, what . . . your room." He steps inside, looking around at the room, no longer mine. Everything that made it mine has been cleared away, except for the pictures, which I haven't had time to tear down and slip into an air pocket. I thought it would be easier for him that way.

I say nothing. I just fold my hands together, watching him turn and look at the table, where the ring sits.

His jaw tightens. "You're leaving."

"I am," I say quietly.

"Why?"

I look up at him then, sadly. "You never changed, did you?"

His face goes white. There's horror and pain and shock in his eyes now. "Arta, we talked about this. I _have _changed. I –"

"You are the same." My voice is steady. "You lied to me, about your plans. You killed Barbatos, because he said something you didn't like." My voice rises with each accusation. "You're going to create a demon army for _power. _You're raising Lilith! Mother of all demons, Sebastian!"

"Mother of me," he says. His voice is razor sharp. "Are you saying I'm a demon, Arta?"

"If the blood fits," I say coldly.

He steps back, as if I just slapped him. He shakes his head then, and laughs. It's a chilling laugh, dark and empty, one that makes me cringe. "I knew it," he says. "I knew you couldn't love me. No one can."

"That's not true," I hiss angrily. "What I told you in your room? It was true. Between the two of us, _my love_," I say the words as if they burn my tongue. "I'm the only one who hasn't lied constantly."

"If you love me, then why are you leaving me?" His voice cracks, and I have to clench my fists to keep myself from comforting him.

"I'm not leaving you," I say. "You're driving me away. Valentine never loved you, because you are cold and care for no one. If you loved me, Sebastian, you wouldn't have lied. You wouldn't have kept this from me. You would have told me, and I would have convinced you to stop. Because – because that's what good girlfriends do! They keep their stupid boyfriends from doing stupid things!"

"I _DO _LOVE YOU!" he shouts, and I take a step back. His hands are shaking, his black eyes like pools of ink. "I love you," he repeats, quietly. "If you stay, I won't do it. I swear. We can be as we always were. But if you go – I'll raise hell. I'll raise Lilith and crush the Nephilim."

I close my eyes. "You can't just force me to stay by giving me an ultimatum, Sebastian." He might just do it anyway, behind my back. He's been doing everything else that way.

He says nothing. There's nothing left to say to him, and I turn back to the door.

"Come here, Artemis," he says finally. "Please."

And I do. Because I am weak, weak for him. I fall into his arms, and he envelopes me in his warmth. I remember when Clary told me Jace read her _A Tale of Two Cities _and I challenged Sebastian to read me _The Count of Monte Christo._ Which he did, until I felt asleep an hour later, because I wanted to stay up listening to him. He read beautifully. I remember one rainy night, when neither of us could sleep so we found other ways to occupy ourselves. When, afterwards, I kissed the whip marks on his back and told him I'd never let anyone hurt him again.

"You're just like me, you know."

I stiffen against his body. "No. I'm not."

"You are," he says with cold glee. "You have ruthlessness in your bones and ice in your heart, Angel. How else could you love me?"

"Opposites attract," I snarl, wrestling myself from his grip. He doesn't force me in place – he lets me back away. "And you don't know what love is."

His smile is like a razor slice. "If that makes you feel better, Angel, then say it. Scream it, carve it into the walls, I don't care. But I know what love is. It's what I feel for you. And it will never go away. You'll never forget me. You'll come back to me someday. And I'll be waiting."

His confidence scares me. What if he's right? I will, for the rest of my life, only love him. It may fade after time, but I'll never be able to move on. Angels love absolutely. Humans don't. The more angel and less human one has, the harder it is for them to love anew. And I will never love anew.

"Maybe," I say quietly. "But it'll be your grave I return to. If your quest for power doesn't kill you, your mortality will. Whatever end you meet, I will wait for it."

And then I wave my hand and the door appears, a strip of open green grass and lovely sky.

"You know what Barbatos said to me, before I killed him?" I can hear his smile. But his tone is bitter.

I say nothing, and I hear him walk towards me.

"He said that he knew what I really wanted to ask. And that the answer was yes. That everything I touch, I destroy. And that you, Angel, are no exception."

He laughs then, and doesn't stop laughing. My heart pounds and I run through the door. I'm aware of him lunging for me, but I'm already through. The moment I'm outside, I teleport myself someplace off the maps, where no one can follow, and cry.


	17. Chapter 17

17

So that was it then.

He watched the last sliver of light vanish with the portal a few minutes ago. Watched her black hair bounce one last time. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, but by the Angel, did it hurt. Already, he wanted her back. He wanted to rip through the fabric of space and pull her back into his arms and say sorry, to tell her that without her at his side it wasn't worth it. Not anymore.

Well what did he expect? He barked out a laugh, dry and bitter and pained. The bonds of those angel-blooded brats were strong. They were all about honor, dignity, friendship, all that useless shit. And of course, that's why she didn't pick him. No matter how much she loved him, of course she'd do what she thought was the right thing, in the end. That's how the angels were.

God, how he hated the angel-blooded. All of them, every last one. He hated Valentine, for not loving him, despite being the superior son. He hated Jace, for being that precious angel boy that everybody loved. He hated Clary for not loving him. He hated Jocelyn, for never loving him. And he hated Artemis, for leaving him.

But oh, how he loved her so.

He clenched his teeth. He'd have her again, they both knew it. And if she thought death would come between them, then he'd simply have to prove her wrong. He wouldn't lose this war, no way in hell. He wouldn't need to remain mortal, not if he took in more of Lilith's blood. He'd burn away every last bit of angel in him. He loved his Angel absolutely, and he would show her that, no matter what he became, no matter what he did, she would love him the same.

He roared then, a carnal, guttural howl that made the walls tremble. Soundproofed walls, of course, so he wouldn't startle his little delicate sister who remained oblivious to everything. His sister, the only one left. And even then, she wasn't here for him — of course not. She was here for her little angel brat. The same brat who, despite being his brother, hated him too. Ha. He'd teach them, then. You can teach anyone to love you. Wasn't that what Arta did to him?

He tore out of her room, letting the door shut gently behind him, and went straight to his. Though the sight that met him did stun him for a moment.

Clary sitting on his bed, the same place he had thrown Arta down and pleasured her until she had screamed his name. He always loved the way she said his name when she came, as if he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Being that important to someone – God, he loved it.

Now that was no more.

"So," he said nonchalantly, looking down at his sister. "Would it be déjà vu if I asked you what you were doing in my room, little sister?"

Clary swallowed, and the fear in her eyes made something jump in him. He'd forgotten what it had been like to be looked at like that, like he was a threat, something to be afraid of, to be respected. And it was about time his sister started respecting him the way all little sisters did.

"Looking for you," she said.

Yeah right. She was poking around, and judging by the ring on her hand, she'd found what she had been looking for.

It was only when he took a step forward and paused did he remember the look on Arta's face when they discussed him kissing Clary. Yeah, he had regretted it after that, but at the moment . . . he smiled wide. What would break her more than knowing her only love had gone after her best friend? His sister?

"You're sitting on my bed," he said. "Did you think I was under it?"

"I . . ."

She had no words. Good. That would make this easier. He sauntered into the room, looking her over. Red hair – lovely, now that he thought about it, but too much like her mother. Not like Arta's black hair, the same color as his eyes –

_ENOUGH._

"So why were you looking for me? And why haven't you changed for the ceremony?"

"The dress," she said. "It – doesn't fit."

"Of course it fits." He sprawled out beside her, facing her, his back to the headboard. "Everything else in that room fits you. This should fit you too."

"It's silk and chiffon. It doesn't stretch."

"You're a skinny little thing. It shouldn't have to." He reached up and took her right wrist. She curled her fingers in, desperately trying to hide the ring. As if she could hide anything from him. "Look, my fingers go right around your wrist."

"The Seventh Sacred Sight," she said, her voice firm despite how uncomfortable he knew she was. Then again, Morgensterns were people of deception. "Is that where Jace went?"

_Jace, Jace, Jace. Oh how everyone worries over Jace._ "Yes. I sent him ahead. He's readying things for our arrival. We'll meet him there."

"He's not coming back?" Her fear made him want to grin, but he bit it down.

His eyes raked over her frame. She was all bones and bit of muscle. Yeah, most girls her age wished that they had her figure, Arta included. But he had found her curves, her planes and the expanse of her body, so much more appetizing than skin and bones. But that didn't matter now. He wasn't here for himself.

"Not before the ceremony. Which is good, because he'd be so disappointed when I told him about _this._" He slid his hand swiftly over hers and uncurled her fingers, exposing the gold faerie ring, something she thought to be her advantage. "Did you think I wouldn't recognize faerie work? Do you think the Queen is such a fool that she would send you off to retrieve these for her without knowing you would keep them for yourself? She _wanted _you to bring this here, where I would find it." He jerked the ring from her finger. The Queen adored him, and after Arta said she despised her, he considered cutting ties. But now . . . he smirked. He'd have to take that blood-haired vixen up on her offer.

"You've been in contact with the Queen?" Clary demanded. "How?"

For a brief moment, he was surprised. Arta didn't tell her? He composed himself quickly. "With this ring," he purred. "Do you really think she'd let you get your hands on something that would let you communicate with your little friends without her being able to listen in?" Such blind trust his precious little sister had – her and her friends. They believed everyone was trustworthy, that no one would betray them. "Since I took it from you, I've spoken to her, she's spoken to me – you were a fool to trust her, little sister. She likes to be on the winning side of things, and that side is _ours._" His made his voice low and soft. Clary was all he had left now, and she was of his blood. He could teach her to think like him, to understand why he did what he did. That Shadowhunters were weak, because they were of angel blood. "Forget them, your Shadowhunter friends. Your place is with us. With _me. _Your blood cries out for power, like mine does. Whatever your mother may have done to twist your conscience, you know who you are."

She tried to pull her arm back, but he was so much stronger than her. It reminded him when he and Angel play-wrestled in bed, and she'd beg him to dominate her in every way he could. And he loved obliging to her wishes. "Let go of me Sebastian. I mean it."

His hand slid up her wrist the way he did with her. "You're such a little thing." _So was she._ "Who'd think you were such a spitfire? Especially in bed."

She leaped to her feet, jerking away from him. "_What _did you just say?"

He rose as well, and this time he couldn't hold back his grin. This should be fun. "Everything that marks Jace, marks me. Down to your fingernails. Eight parallel scratches on my back, little sister. Are you saying you didn't put them there?"

Arta had teased him about that, and at that time he had even felt, if mildly, disgusted. But now? He was glad they were there. It would hurt her more when she saw what other marks he'd have Clary put on him.

He laughed at Clary's horror. Well, until she snatched the ring from his hand and threw it on the ground. He shouted, but she already brought her foot down, crushing the ring beneath her foot.

He looked at her incredulously. "You –"

She drew back her right hand and drove her fist into his stomach. He was taller, broader, and stronger than she was, but that had come from out of nowhere. He doubled over, choking, and she snatched the stele from his weapons belt and ran.

He listened to her footsteps racing out the door with dry, horrid amusement. Ah hell, he had so much pent up rage and need right now. And looks like he found something to take it out on.

* * *

I know it's not good to surprise people on short notice, especially when they're driving, but at the moment I didn't really care.

Magnus jerks the wheel to the side so fast that the tires screech and the car almost flips when it goes off the road. My ears are still ringing from when Simon shrieked when I randomly appeared beside him, and my arm stings from where Isabelle nicked it with her spare blade.

Immediately everybody pools outside of the car. Isabelle takes one look at me and her eyes widen.

"Arta?" she asks, shocked. "What are you _wearing?_"

I roll my eyes. "Is that really what caught your attention?"

"It caught mine too," Magnus says. "My dear, that color looks lovely on you. I recommend you wear it more often."

I shudder. "I don't think I'm ever going to wear red again."

"What happened to Clary?" Simon demands.

"She stayed behind," I say. "She wanted to save Jace –"

"No, I mean what _happened_ to her?"

I frown. "What?"

He quickly explains that he was talking to her before I showed up, after I got over myself and decided that the best time to act upon my grief is when war is coming. My stomach drops then. "I knew I should have brought her back with me."

"Why didn't she? Hell, why did _you _come back alone?"

I bury my face in my hands. "It's a long and terrible story, trust me. But it involves me being stupid."

"Alright, angel-girl," Magnus says, shaking his head hard enough to shed glitter. "What the hell is going on?"

I lean against the truck and explain the recent events the best I can, about Sebastian's plans to make a dark army of Shadowhunters and raise Lilith, while leaving out every detail about me and Sebastian. I don't want to know how they'd react, knowing that I had not only slept with the enemy, but that I had fallen completely and stupidly in love with him.

"What's this Seventh Sacred Site business?" says Alec. "I know about the seven wonders of the world, but seven sacred sights?"

"They're more in the interest of warlocks than Nephilim," Magnus says. "Each is a place where lye lines converge, forming a matrix – a sort of net within which magical spells are amplified. The seventh is a stone tomb in Ireland, at Poll na mBrón; the name means cavern of sorrows. It's a good place to raise a demon, if it's a big one."

"Perfect place to raise Lilith, you mean." I groan. "This is bad."

"But she's dead," Isabelle says. "Simon killed her."

"Greater Demons don't die," Magus says. "Simon scattered her between worlds. It will take a long time for her to re-form and she will be weak for years. Unless Sebastian calls her up again."

"You think he can do it – make dark Shadowhunters?" Simon asks.

I rub my temples. "Everything has an alliance, Simon. The alliance of the Nephilim is seraphic, but if it were demonic, they'd still be as strong, as powerful as they are now. But they would be dedicated to eradication of mankind instead of its salvation. Their mandate would become demonic."

"We have to get there," Isabelle says. "We have to stop them."

"'Him,' you mean," Alec frowns. "We have to top him. Sebastian."

"Jace is his ally now. You have to accept that, Alec," I say quietly.

A light misty drizzle begins to fall, like liquid gold in the headlight's glow. "Ireland is five hours ahead," Magus says. "They're doing the ceremony at midnight. It's five o'clock here. We have an hour and a half – two hours, at most – to stop them."

"There are only four of us," Alec says. "We don't even know what kind of numbers we're up against –"

Simon glances at me, and I know he's going to ask me to teleport them there. I quietly shake my head, and I think he understands. When I'm this emotionally drained, teleporting big masses to places I haven't been before could result in us getting flung into limbo. Which, I can say firsthand, isn't a fun place to be.

"Can't we Portal there?" Simon asks Magnus. "I mean, could you do that for us?"

"Yeah," he says. "But like Alec said, we don't know what we're up against in terms of numbers. I'm a pretty powerful warlock, and Arta is an extraordinary angel. But Jonathan Morgenstern is no ordinary Shadowhunter, and neither is Jace, for that matter. And if they succeed in raising Lilith – she'll be a lot weaker than she was, but she's still Lilith."

"We have the sword," Isabelle says. "We can take out Sebastian. We have you, Arta, and Simon. That should be –"

"Wait, what sword?" I frown.

Simon grins. "You're gonna love it."

"We don't even know if the sword will work," Alec snaps. "And it won't do us much good if we can't get to Sebastian. And Simon isn't even Mr. Indestructible anymore. He can be killed, just like the rest of us."

I spin on him. "What happened to the Mark of Cain?"

"Raziel wanted it, so I gave it to him."

I sigh and rub my temples again. I cried so hard I ended up giving myself a headache, and my mind is still sore. "We have to try," I say. "Sebastian's army will be massive, yes, but we can handle it. And we have enough time to grab some reinforcements, as long as we still Portal."

"Like, the angel kind?" Isabelle asks hopefully.

"No, I mean the bestie kind." I point to Simon. "You, if you're okay with it, get Maia and Jordan from their apartment. See if Jordan can get the Praetor Lupus on their side." I always admired the Praetor Lupus organization – not many people do what they do. Sebastian thought it was corny I was so fond of a "homeless" organization, when I told him. "Magus, go to the downtown police station and see about enlisting whatever members of the pack that are around. Alec and Isabelle –"

"You're splitting us up?" she demands, voice rising. "What about fire-messages, or –"

"No one's going to trust a fire-message about something like this," Magnus says. "And besides, they're for Shadowhunters. Do you really want to communicate this information to the Clave via fire-message rather than going in person?"

"Fine." She stalks around to the side of the car, and I watch her go. She yanks the door open, but doesn't go inside. Instead she reaches in and draws out an old, rusted blade that looks like it hasn't been used in centuries.

I raise an eyebrow. "You got _Michael's_ sword?"

"We're borrowing it," Simon says as his girlfriend hands it to him. It shines in the dim light like a bolt of dark lightning, the words carved on the blade flickering in the car light: _Quis et Deus? Who is like God? _

"We leave the car here," Isabelle says. "We split up, but we meet back at the Institute in an hour. That's when we leave, whoever we have with us." She meets all of our eyes, one by one, as if daring us to say otherwise. I grin. I missed her.

Simon turns to me, and offers the sword – Glorious, I think – to me, hilt first.

I frown. "What are you giving it to me, for?"

"You're the angel," he says. "I figure you should be the one to use the angel's blade."

I shake my head and push the sword back to him. At his confusion, I explain in a quiet tone. "The Angel gave it to you, Simon, so you will be the one who carries it."

"But what about you?"

I cast my gaze downward. "I . . . I'm sitting this one out."

"You _what?_" Isabelle's outrage makes me cringe. I watch Simon walk over to her and murmur something in her ear. She looks at me then. "What's wrong, Arta?"

I blank. What do I tell them? "I can't – I can't be near Sebastian . . . right now. If things get really, really bad, then I'll come. But I have faith in you all. I think you'll be alright."

"What did he do to you?" she whispers. My eyes fall on Magnus, who doesn't look as sympathetic. He knows. I don't know how, but he knows what really happened.

I close my eyes. "Please, Izzy. I can't talk about it."

"I'll kill him," she growls. "I'll kill him, for whatever he did to you. And everything he did before. And what he will do after."

I open my eyes, and look at her. Not with sadness, or sorrow, or anything like that. Just blankly, maybe with a touch of hope. "Do what you must."


	18. Chapter 18

Clary dashed down the hallway and hit the steps with a clatter, racing downstairs for the spot on the wall that Jace must have told her was the only entrance and exit from the apartment. Arta could open one from her room. But then again, Clary was no Arta.

Sebastian rolled his eyes as Clary scrambled to draw a rune on the door. He reached out, fist closing on the back of her jacket, and jerked her backward. The stele flew out of her hand and she gasped as he swung her up off her feet and slammed her into the wall, knocking the breath out of her.

He glanced at the half-created mark on the wall and sneered. "An Opening rune?" he laughed. He leaned forward, bringing his lips to her ear. "And you didn't even finish it. Not that it matters. Do you really think there's a place on this earth you could go where I couldn't find you?" _You could burrow yourself nicely in the clouds of heaven, Angel, and I will find you and drag you down to hell._

Clary responded with a rather clever epithet that made Sebastian want to laugh. Before he could, though, her hand cracked across his face so hard his grip loosened on her. Damn, she was stronger than she looked.

So was –

He raced in front of her, stopping her before she could get to the downstairs bedroom. He grabbed the lapels of her jacket and swung her around and pinned her to the wall with his body again, arms on either side, making a cage around her. He half-expected her to drape her arms over his own, then remembered blackly that this was Clary.

He grinned. Oh, he hoped Angel showed up to the summoning tonight, and watch Clary take her place. "What's wrong little sis? You look upset."

She was gasping. "Cracked…my nail polish slapping your…worthless face. See?" She showed him a finger – just one of them.

He pressed her back harder against the wall. He could feel her chest rise and fall against his. Flatter and thinner in all the wrong places. "Cute," he snorted. "You know how I knew you'd betray us? How I knew you wouldn't be able to help it? Because you're too much like me."

"I'm nothing like you," she snarled.

"You're everything like me," he growled in her ear. Arta wasn't. Clary had to be. There must be someone in this wretched world just like him. "You infiltrated us. You faked friendship. Faked love."

Clary smirked then. "You mean Arta did."

He clenched his teeth.

"I never had to fake caring about _Jace._"

Jealousy flashed through him. Of course not. They were both her brothers, him more so, for God's sakes, and she still loved Jace more. Granted, she didn't see him as her brother. Maybe that was it.

"You – that was harder," she continues. "She was the only person in this world who could ever love you. And you hurt her and left her."

"I didn't hurt her! She hurt me!" he screamed at her. "And _she_ left me – she –" He broke off. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to make him crack, so she could dig her nails into his wounds and make him bleed more. _Well, sorry sis, but I've already bled out._

"You screwed us over," he murmured. His hand moved from her left arm, moving down. "Probably literally screwed Jace over –"

She flinched, and he hissed in a breath. "You slept with him." While he was aware angel-boy had gotten his fair share, he never assumed he had the nerve to add Clary to his collection. It infuriated him – angel boy got his perfect girl, completely and utterly. Why couldn't he?

"It's none of your business."

He caught her face, forcing her to look at him, fingers digging into her chin a little harder than he meant to, but he didn't particularly care. Clary had always been coddled and loved. Loved by dozens of people, unlike him. She could use a wake-up call. "You can't _screw_ someone into being good. Nicely heartless move, though." His lips curled into a smile. Is that what his Angel had tried doing? "You know he doesn't remember any of it, right? Did he show you a good time, at least? Because I would have."

The words spilled naturally from his lips. He had always had a way with words, something dear old daddy had made sure of. And looking at Clary's face, he knew he was getting to her.

"You're my brother." Her disgust was thick.

"We aren't human. Their rules don't apply to us. Stupid laws about what DNA can be mixed with what. Hypocritical, really, considering we're already experiments. You know, the rulers of ancient Egypt used to marry their siblings. Cleopatra married her brother. Strengthens the bloodline."

_Imagine how strong that bloodline would be with Angel._

His fingers dug into her skin and she hissed. He loosened his grip just slightly – he didn't want her face marked up for the ceremony.

"I knew you were crazy," she said. "But I didn't realize you were absolutely, spectacularly out of your goddamned mind."

"Oh, I don't think there's anything crazy about it. We're the last ones left. Who do we belong with but each other?"

"Jace," she said. "I belong with Jace."

_With. Not to. Is that what I did wrong? _It didn't matter. To and with, Arta was meant to be with him. She said so herself. "You can have Jace," he said dismissively.

"I thought you needed him."

"I do. But not for what you need him for." He smirks, and his hands were suddenly on her waist. Less curvy. Harder. He dug his fingers in deeper, trying to find softness where there was none. "We can share him. I don't care what you do. As long as you know you belong to me."

"What about Arta?" she challenged.

"If I can't have her, I'll have you," he seethed.

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't belong to you. I belong to _me._"

Ah, she didn't get it, did she? Arta understood she belonged completely to herself while still belonging to him. Half her heart was his, the way half his heart was hers. That's how it worked. You give and get with love. And yet, it seemed all Clary wanted was to get.

Fine. He could give.

"I think you know better than that," he said, and kissed her.

She tasted wrong. Her lips were shaped wrong. His mouth moved on hers, trying to find some familiarity, trying to summon the same urge that made him kiss her the first time. But it was weaker, and he hated it. He kissed her harder –

And suddenly pain shot from his lower lip.

He yelled and jerked away from her, hand flying to his mouth. Blood rubbed off in streaks on his fingers. She bit him. His eyes narrowed, fury boiling in him. She bit him. "You –"

She whirled and kicked him, hard, in the stomach. He doubled over and she shot past him, sprinting for the stairs. She was halfway there when he reached her, grabbing her by the back of her collar. He swung her around and flung her at the wall. She was so light, and with his strength, it was too damn easy. Rage boiled over in him, and he found himself wishing he had something bigger and tougher to pour his fury into. God, he wanted to break something.

He eyed Clary on the ground in distaste.

She would have to do.

He reached for her, but suddenly his feet went out from under him. He fell forward, but managed to catch himself before falling face first. He turned to Clary –

And something smashed into his head.

Whatever it was shattered, and he felt mild pain throb through his head and blood trickle down his temple. He growled and swatted her across the room. She flew backward, her back smashing through the glass tabletop, hitting the ground in an explosion of shards and oh so much satisfaction. His satisfaction. He landed on top of her and listened to her scream as those shards crunched and dug into her back. He snarled and backhanded her across the face, the same way she had done with him. God, he hated her, the bitch. For fighting, for resisting. How _dare_ she?

Her knee met his stomach, and he grunted and forced her hands down by her sides. "Clary, Clary, Clary," he said with laboring breaths. He felt blood running down his temples and watched it drop onto the pale skin of her arm. It reminded him of cherry syrup from a certain night. He smiled. "Not bad," he said. "You weren't much of a fighter back in Idris."

"Get off me –"

He ignored her and brought his lips to her bloodied skin. His tongue darted out and he licked the blood off the side of her face, biting lightly at her cheek before pulling back with a grin. The move split his lip, but he didn't care. Blood ran down his chin. "You asked me who I belong to." _Cold, evil angel. _"I belong to _you._"

"You belong to Arta," she snarled. "You two said it all the time. You belonged with her. Far away from the rest of us."

"Shut up." His eyes glittered. "Your blood is my blood, your bones my bones."

She stared at him. "You're out of your mind."

"It's in the bible," he said. "The Song of Solomon. 'Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.'" He brushed his fingers against her throat, twining them through the chain that held Jace's Morgenstern ring. He tightened his grip, imagining the metal digging so tightly into her neck that it drew blood. But he only tightened it enough to make her fear that possibility. "'I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love.'" His blood dripped onto her face. His hand slipped to her waist, sliding inside the waistband of her jeans. His skin was hot, burning, from the fight, from the adrenaline, from his fury, and his want.

"This is a mistake, Sebastian. You're just angry she left you."

"Oh, of course I am," he said calmly, gripping her skin tighter. He wanted to tear into her skin, but didn't. "But she's coming back. I'll teach her she can't just leave me and expect me to forgive her so easily. She'll have to pay. And you, Clary, are the currency."

"You don't love me." Her words were drawn with pain, from what he was doing to her or because of that fact? He grinned internally.

"And you don't care that I'm your brother," he said. "I know how you felt about Jace, even when you thought he was your brother. You can't lie to me."

"Jace is better than you."

"No one is better than me." He grinned. "'A garden enclosed is my sister,'" he said. "'A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.' But not anymore, right? Jace took care of that." He fumbled for the button on her jeans. He had only worked the zipper when he felt something sharp pierce his shoulder.

He yelled, jerking back, but more in surprise than pain. She brought the glass shard down again, into his thigh. Now _that_ didn't feel too good. He reared back, and she drove her elbow into his throat. He had to hand it to her – she fought ruthlessly. Her angel boy didn't teach her dirty fighting. It was in her blood. Instinct they both shared. Even when he choked on his own blood, he wanted to grin as she rolled him over and pinned him beneath her little body. He saw a flash of pale white as the shard came down to his throat, and he readied himself for the blow.

Only, it didn't come.

For a split second, a tiny one that barely kindled any sort of reaction from him, he thought she had stopped out of fear of hurting him. Cutting her brother's throat open – she couldn't bear to do it. Whether it was her goodness or some sliver of fondness she had over him, it stilled her hand.

Then he saw the black fury in her eyes, and started laughing. Deep, body-shaking laughter that was in no way spawned from amusement. Jace. Cutting his own throat meant cutting the golden boy's throat. His death was an angel's death. Her love – not for him, but for Jace – was what stopped her.

Well, what did he expect? He let his arms fall to either side of him in something similar to playful defeat. No one really cared for Sebastian. No one _could _care for him. He knew that. It was about time he accepted it, and let it make him stronger.

After all, to love was to be weak.

"Kill me, little sister," he beseeched. "Kill me, and you kill Jace, too."

She roared and brought the shard down, burying it in the wood inches from his throat.

He laughed again, feeling unnaturally giddy for someone who almost had their throat sliced open rather unpleasantly. "You can't do it," he said gleefully. "You can't kill me."

"To hell with you," she snarled, thin lips pulling back over small, white teeth. "I can't kill _Jace._"

"Same thing." His death meant the angel boy's death. So, in a way, no one would kill him. Not out of fear of failure, but out of love for his life. Love from others. Not from Angel. Not that useless shit from Valentine. And it was love he could wield to his advantage, control with his will. If he put a gun to his head, they would beg and plead for him to put it down.

_For_ _Jace, _he heard his father's voice mock. _That bullet would pierce your skull, but it would be Jace's corpse they mourned for. _

Fury, red and hot, coursed through him. He sat up and belted her across the face, sending her skidding across the floor. For a moment, he briefly worried if he had knocked any of her teeth out. The curt flutter of concern was enough to put him at her side in seconds. He fist her jacket and hauled her to her feet, scanning her for any serious injuries.

"Could be worse," he said, once he was sure she would live. "Looks like the jacket kept you from any _real _harm." It was a gift from Angel. Of course it could do that.

He walked into Jace's room and dumped her on the floor. She staggered to her feet, keeping away from him. He caught her before she could get to the door and tore Angel's jacket off her body. He didn't want any of her magic touching his sister. Clary didn't deserve it. No. Angel didn't deserve to craft for a Morgenstern. _No. _He –

Whistled, at the damage he had raked upon her body. Too late to ask her to leave anything jealousy-inducing on him. He didn't want her fingers or teeth anywhere near his body. At the moment. "You're a mess, little sister," he smiled. "Better get in the bathroom and wash some of that blood off."

"No," she said, lifting her chin. "Let them see me like this. Let them see what you had to do to get me to come with you."

Annoyance flared through him and his hand lashed out, grabbing that proud chin of hers, forcing to look into his black eyes. He hoped she could see her reflection in them, see how he viewed her. Maybe then she would be humbled.

Her gaze traveled from his eyes to his lips, and he felt the words tumble from his mouth. "You belong to me. And I will have you by my side, however I have to force you to be there."

"Why?" she demanded, bitter rage in that one word. "What do you care? I know you can't kill Jace, but you could kill me. Why don't you just _do _it?"

_Because you're all I have left. _The words almost made it out. They bubbled on his bloodied lips, but he licked them away before she could latch onto them and tear them from his throat, from his heart. "This world will be consumed by hellfire," he said. "But I will bring you and Jace safely through the flames if you only do what I ask. It is a grace I extend to no one else." _As for Angel, I will carry her myself through those flames, so no heat but my own touches her skin. _"Do you not see how foolish you are to reject it?"

"Jonathan," she said. "Don't you see how impossible it is to ask me to fight by your side when you want to _burn down the goddamn world_?"

_Why so concerned about this earth? _"Why is this world so precious to you? You _know _that there are others."_ Others we can all start anew in. Others _I _belong in._

Something clutched him suddenly, maybe because she wasn't clawing at him and was being tender. Maybe because, at that moment, he saw her red hair and remembered the way Angel's red dress had vanished through the door.

_I love you, _she had said that night beneath the willow tree. _And what you're doing – I will help you succeed. You'll be a hero, Sebastian. And everyone will see you the way I do._

"Tell me you love me. Tell me you love me and will fight with me," he breathed.

"I'll never love you," she spat out with a cold smile, as if she relished the effect those words had on him. "You were wrong when you said we have the same blood. Your blood is poison. Demon poison. That's why Arta couldn't love you. She only came here to help me rescue Jace, and to squeeze information out of you. She probably faked everything."

He didn't bother humoring her words. Though they planted seeds of doubt, Angel's love was real. He had seen it, felt it, immersed himself in it. It was a bliss he couldn't live without.

He smiled, eyes glowing darkly. He pulled out his stele and drew an _iratze _into her skin, and vanished back into his thoughts. Angel would be hiding somewhere, but he hadn't been kidding when he said he could find anyone anywhere. But should he even go to her first? Bringing her back would only make her run away again. Capture would threaten that free spirit of hers. He didn't want to have to keep her chained up in some dungeon. He wanted her in a lavish castle, spoiled with dresses and paintings and photos and art, as she would want. He couldn't give her that in a prison. So he'd have to wait, then, until _she_ came to _him_.

"Get in the bathroom and clean yourself," he said, letting go of Clary. He grabbed her mother's ceremonial dress and dumped it in her arms. "Time grows short, and my patience wears thin. If you're not out in ten minutes, I'll come in after you. And trust me, you won't like that."

* * *

My timing is terrible. Truly, I understand it is. But the reason it took me almost five hours to understand what I had to was because Zeb had to talk me into it.

"I can't watch him do it," I say for the millionth time. "I can't. It'll kill me."

"_Sora, my friend, you are exaggerating. You are not physically restricted from watching Sebastian royally – as you say – fuck up, and it sure as heaven will not kill you. The only thing that can kill you –_"

"I know," I say. "But it's already probably too late. You said it yourself. Lilith was raised just a few minutes ago. Sebastian's cup is ready."

"_This is like a warrior facing an opponent, then admitting defeat because the other one has a bigger army drew a pretty sword. You are a warrior, my friend._" His solid white eyes shine. In the dark light, his hair looks almost black, making his skin even paler. "_Warriors fight, no matter how hopeless the outcome seems. Warriors rescue. Warriors save lives. And there are so many lives that will need saving. One, in fact, has been lost as we speak._"

"It's a war," I say bitterly. "It was bound to happen."

"_The life lost was an example made to inspire others. I believe you know her. Amatis?_"

I stiffen. Luke's sister. I'm not close with Amatis, but I still know her. "Zeb –"

"_More will follow,_" he says, standing. His pure white wings, each feather outlined in gold, spread, a symbol of pure, well, purity, and hope. If anyone can give me hope, it's this teenage dork over here.

I sigh and stand with him, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm assuming you aren't coming?"

"_This isn't my battle. But I will be listening. I believe . . . I believe you are good enough, to at least help Sebastian, if not a little bit. Good luck, Artemis._" He opens his arms wide. _"Hug, for more good luck._"

I grin, despite myself, and hug him. He smells clean, like fresh air, sunlight – if sunlight had a scent, and sweetness. I bury my face in his shoulder. Zeb gives the best hugs, for someone who hasn't had the opportunity to hug many people. I'll bring him to the Institute one day, and introduce him to everybody officially. He'll be delighted to have so many friends.

He vanishes, and I take a moment to collect myself. They're at the Seven Sacred Sight, as I recall.

I manifest my black battle axe, only now the blade is tipped with poison. The small triangular tip at the base elongates, skinnier and sharper than before. The handle is decorated with the language of heaven, in blessings and curses.

I twirl the weapon between my fingers and smile.


	19. Chapter 19

19

I'm not sure what I expected when I arrived. A battle halfway through, a slaughter, I don't know. But even though what I see isn't nearly as bloody, it's somehow worse. Shadowhunters, all dressed in the red I shed a few hours ago. I can smell Lilith's scent, faded – she was already summoned, but was probably too weak to stay. But her blood lingers. Not just in the cup, but in some of the Shadowhunters. Sickness rolls through me. Beyond them, I can see Sebastian, Clary, and Jace. Clary . . . oh God. She'd been healed now, but I know – I know she was beaten. Badly.

By _my _boyfriend.

"Artemis!" Alec whispers, in almost pure shock. It takes me a moment to realize that an army of our own is approaching. Wolves aren't that far behind, and beyond them I can see Isabelle, Simon, and the others. A flutter of hope and slight excitement pushes against my worry.

"Hey," I say, stifling the urge to ruffle his hair.

"I thought – you said –"

"I did," I say. "Then I realize it was stupid, and so here I am."

Without warning, I let my hand fly forward, past Alec, and a diamond-shaped piece of glass flies forward, at the man tipping Sebastian's cup to his lips. It slices cleanly through his neck, and vanishes.

Alec and I stand side by side on the stone dolmen, but I know it's me everyone focuses on. I grin, and open my palm, bearing my axe.

Chaos erupts. The wolves pour out onto the plain, low to the ground, brindled fur shining in the variegated light. Behind them follow Jocelyn, Isabelle, Maryse Lightwood, Helen Blackthorn, Aline Penhallow, Simon, with Michael's sword on his hip, and Magnus, with blue fire crackling in his palms.

I turn back to Alec, and we split up. He moves a head, and I throw an invisibility suit of sorts over him. It conforms to his movements without hindering them, so he can fire without being seen. I fall back with the line of Shadowhunters and Downworlders, finding myself overjoyed to be in their company again. I missed them all.

"What we need to get to is Sebastian," I hear Isabelle say. "Simon, we'll hack a path for you –"

"No," I say, cutting them off. They turn to me, and I feel braver than I should. "I'll do it. I'll – I'll kill him."

"Are you sure you can?" Magnus's voice isn't cold, as I expected, but gentle. He isn't asking if I'm physically capable of doing so, he's asking if I'm emotionally capable.

_This is my mess, _I want to tell them, but don't. "The least I can do is weaken him, or distract him while Simon delivers the blow," I say, clenching my teeth.

Isabelle nods. "You guys get to Sebastian, and run him through with Glorious. Once he falls –"

"The others will probably scatter," Magnus says. "Depending on how tied they are to Sebastian, they might die or collapse along with him. We can hope, at least." He cranes his head back. "Speaking of hope, did you see that shot Alec got off with his bow? That's my boyfriend." He beams and wiggles his fingers; blue sparks shoot from them. In fact, he's shining all over. Only Magnus would have sequined battle armor.

"Okay Arta," Simon says. "Are you ready?"

I turn my gaze to the army. We're still some distance from the line of them in their red robes and gear, bristling with weapons. Some of them are exclaiming out loud in confusion. I can't help but laugh.

"Name of the Angel, Arta," Isabelle says. "What's there to laugh about?"

"Their seraph blades don't work anymore," I grin. "They're trying to figure out why. Sebastian just shouted at them to use other weapons."

A cry comes up from the line as another arrow swoops down from the tomb and buries itself in the back of a burly red-robed Shadowhunter, who collapses forward. The line jerks and opens slightly, like a fracture in a wall. Seeing my chance, I dash forward, and Simon and the others follow.

It's like diving into a black ocean at night, an ocean filled with sharks and other viciously toothed sea creatures colliding against one another. Simon is on one side of me, Magnus on the other. Isabelle is on his other side. All of us together work to protect Simon, protect Glorious. Isabelle's whip sings out, strong and sure. Magnus's hands spit red and green and blue. My axe slices through flesh, and heavenly light on my fingertips burn away the enemy. The wolves slink among the rest of them, biting, tearing, leaping for throats.

"I see Clary!" I yell suddenly.

"Go get her!" Simon yells back. "I'll meet you at point Sebastian!"

_Did he just say 'point Sebastian'?_ I teleport myself to her, but there's something around the hill they stand on, and I can only teleport about fifty or so feet away. I have to run the rest, and running uphill is literally like running in a dream. It's impossible.

"Let go of me!" I hear her faintly shout, and with a wave of my hand the invisibility shield thickens and covers me completely.

Jace is holding her tightly, absorbing all her physical protests with his body. And Sebastian – my Sebastian – is looking straight at me. He can't see me. He can't possibly see me, no way in heaven, but he curses and I know he somehow has. Maybe by scent, or by blood, I don't know. Seeing him is like poison to my chest, to my lungs, to my tongue and heart. I can't do anything but run, feeling like tears of blood will roll down my cheeks.

I get close enough to see the cruelness in his eyes, the dark intent in the depths of those shadows. "Lift her head up, Jace." He bears the Infernal Cup in hand, and I realize what he's going to do.

_No. NO!_

He jams the Cup against her lips. Black blood stains pink, and my eyes widen. But Sebastian keeps pushing, and I know she hasn't given in yet.

That's exactly when I reach them.

At the last second, I flip my axe, so when I swing, it's the straight blunt edge that slams into Sebastian's temple, not the curved blade. He stumbles back, blood staining his white hair. The moment Jace is distracted, Clary moves. She jerks her head back, and I hear a crack as her skull connects with Jace's pretty face. He yells and she frees herself, plunging into the battle without looking back.

"Find her!" Sebastian howls. His eyes are on me, and for once I don't understand what I'm seeing. There are too many emotions in them, clashing against each other, expelling a maddened energy. He looks insane. "I'll take care of Angel."

Jace vanishes then, and I spin to face Sebastian. But he's already there, and the axe goes flying from my hand. I jerk back in surprise, but his hands are on my wrists, wresting me still. I fight against him, but he's stronger. His dark scent is tainted by something foul.

"You drank her blood, didn't you?" I whisper. "Lilith's."

He smiles wide, all white teeth and wickedness. "I told you death would never come between us."

"Not like this, Sebastian!" I rip my hands from his grip. "Her blood will destroy you – it will _burn you out_!"

"I think you forget, Arta, that her blood burns out angel blood. Me?" He spreads his arms wide. "I already have her blood from birth to sustain me. I cannot die, my dear. Nothing can kill me."

"You overestimate your immortality," I say coldly, stepping away. I raise my hand, and my axe returns. "Anything that breaths can be killed, remember? And you're still breathing."

"Do you intend to change that?" he muses, nodding at my weapon. "I can't be killed by that, not now."

"But Jace can," I say coldly. "I sink this into his chest, and he dies. And you'll follow."

"But can you kill that angel-boy?" He takes a step toward me, and I step back. "You love him."

"I don't love him."

"_Everybody _loves him!" he spits.

"I love you more." I stop, and his head snaps up. His gaze pulls the words from my lips. "I still love you, Sebastian. And we can still end this. I'll take you up on your offer – I'll go with you if you stop this."

He throws his head back and roars with laughter. Dread sinks through me, enough to where my hand numbly drops the axe. "Oh, my angel, it's too late for that. It's – _too – fucking – late_!"

And then I'm flying. Straight off the top of the hill, down below, opposite from the side of the battle, at the base of a rocky slope. I land on my side, letting out a sharp cry as the stones tear into my skin and my bones groan and break. I roll over on my side, feeling my eyes burn. The conditions. The conditions for my vulnerability, for my death.

They have been met.

I gasp for breath, feeling my body heal slower than usual. They've been met for awhile now, but I never really understood until this moment.

_I'm going to die._

I watch his dark figure descend the low hill. His white hair pierces the darkness, whipped aside by the wind. He moves more swiftly and smoothly, if that's even possible. Lilith's blood has strengthened him beyond measure, but it will do other things to him. It must be, because how else can he do this to me?

"Angel," he purrs, and stops above me. His skin is paler, and his smile is cruel. "Stop acting and get up."

I glare up at him and push myself to my feet. The moment I do, he throws me again. Only, before I can slam into the rocky slope, he catches me from behind, and lets my flying body push him back-first into the rock. He keeps his arms tight around me, and laughs as we tumble down the slope and land in a heap at the base of it.

"So weak," he chides. "Where's all that energy you've always had? In battle? In bed?"

He rolls me over and pins me down with his body. He slams his lips against my own and kisses me roughly, hungrily, angrily. His hands grip me too hard, and I find I can't lose myself in his touch. When they move up my shirt and try to tear my bra, I feel pained. Almost disgusted.

I press my palms against his chest and he howls as heavenly light seeps through his gear and burns his skin. He jerks away and I push him off of me. I scramble to my feet, but his hand latches around my ankle and yanks me down.

"What's wrong with you?" he demands, dragging me back to him, fitting me into his arms again. "You're bruising up too easily."

I realize he's talking about the blood blossoming all over my body. Normally, I would never be wounded so easily. "It's you," I say. "You're doing this."

"I'm doing what must be done," he says. "You left me, Angel. You have to pay. You have to repent."

"And killing me will do that?" I challenge. "My death is repentance to you?"

"Of course not," he snarls. "You're feeling the pain you caused _me._"

"You think it didn't hurt me?" I'm right in his face, so I don't need to yell. "It happened a few hours ago, Sebastian, and it still hurt. It hurt like hell. Leaving you was the hardest thing I had to do. And I'm here . . . I'm here for _you_. Not Jace, not Clary, not the Clave or any of the other 'angel-blooded'. I'm here for _you._"

That seems to, if barely, wake him up. His grip doesn't loosen, so I can't move, but his eyes change. He looks at me, and this time he really _sees _what's happening. What he's doing to me. "Angel!"

In a flash he's off me, and I'm on my feet. He's up too, at least ten feet away, as if afraid to get any closer. He looks at me with a look of broken sorrow, like a lost puppy. "Angel, my angel," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

_You better be, _I want to snarl. _Hitting your loved one is disgusting. I should hit you back. I should bury my axe in your chest. I should do _something_! _

"Don't lie to me," is all I can say.

"I'm not lying," he whispers. "Don't leave me, Angel. _Help me_."

That's when I know he's true. He can feel what her blood is doing, and he wants me to stop it. He's willing to put this all behind him, if I promise to stay at his side. And that is something I sure as hell can do.

I step towards him, and he takes a step towards me. His eyes are shining, and I know everything is going to be okay.

And then he drops to his knees, suddenly, and screams. It's a sound of rage and pain and terror and it momentarily freezes me as I watch him tear through the cloak and gear over his heart until I can see his skin. Blood soaks his chest, staining his gear. Heavenly fire burns at the wound, a wound inflicted not on him but on Jace.

_Clary stabbed Jace with Glorious, _I realize with horror. The metal was designed to where one could be harmed while the other remained fine, but it was a stab to the _chest_.

"Sebastian!" I cry, and his gaze snaps back to me, wiped clean of whatever emotion was in it before. It's blackened with fury and hatred and betrayal.

"You did this." His voice cracks. He stumbles to his feet. "You did this to me. You're killing me."

"Sebastian, _no._" My eyes are watering, and I reach for him.

"Don't touch me!" he screams, and backs away. I see the tiniest flicker of fear alongside those other emotions, and it breaks my heart. I didn't stab him, but I might as well have, from the way he's looking at me.

"You're all the same," he spits. "You especially. Cross my path again, Angel, and I'll make you like me – and then I'll chain you to my throne in hell. You'll be mine, Artemis. You'll be mine for _eternity_."

And then he spins around and vanishes into the shadows.


	20. Epilogue

_Thank you so much all of you who rated and reviewed and just plain read this story. Just two side notes this time: First, I saw the second scene going to This is How I Disappear by My Chemical Romance (song totally reminds me of Sebastian in this story). Second, I recommend rereading the epilogue from City of Lost Souls, mainly the last two or three pages, to really understand the epilogue of _this _story.__ Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Epilogue

To me, the aftermath of the battle has always been worse than the battle itself. Listening to the body count, watching the injured heal or succumb to their wounds, and seeing what was left of the battlefield once both parties have emptied it.

By some miracle, things weren't as bad as I thought they would be. Though Magnus _did_ almost die. I found him, using Alec's strength to help him stay awake. Once we were all back someplace safe, I used whatever power I had to heal him. It wasn't easy; he was half demon, and my angel magic burned him as much as it helped. I could only do so much without risking worsening his condition. I left him on his bed, asleep, when Alec came in.

Jace is alive. I stayed with the Silent Brothers as they performed test after test on him, trying to tame the heavenly fire in his veins. They left me alone with him, to see what I could do. But what he has – it's the stuff of pure heaven. I had no idea what to do – every time I tried to take some of it away, even just a few drops, it would burn. Like drinking whiskey when you expected water. But I was able to keep him awake and alive, though the majority of that was _his_ iron will to, well, not die. More than that, his will to be with Clary.

I close my eyes. His love for her is the same as Sebastian's love for me. How could things have ended up so different between us, as couples? It isn't fair. It was his own fault for doing exactly what I prayed he wouldn't, but I shouldn't have yelled at him. Or maybe I should have. Maybe I had the perfectly right reaction. But at the moment, it doesn't feel like it was the right thing to do. Thinking back to his eyes and his cold promise, I shudder. What will become of him, now that he has more of Lilith's blood in his body burning out all his good?

The copy of the Morgenstern ring around my finger feels heavy and cold, but I don't take it off. I can't. I made it for a reason, and that was to remind me. Of what, I can't really define. There are too many things I need to remember about Sebastian Morgenstern.

I can hear Isabelle getting off the phone with Clary. She's been doing a nice, thorough job of avoiding me, after I came clean with everyone about what happened. Most of them didn't believe it. Some were shocked, very few forgave, and most were disgusted. Isabelle, Alec, Jocelyn . . .

I stand up and brush imaginary dust off my dress. I want to leave now, before anyone else comes and visits. No one has told me to leave yet, but I understand when I'm not wanted.

I flex my fingers, ready to teleport.

"Arta."

I still. I can hear Isabelle's heels clicking against the tile as she makes her way to me, stopping beside Jace's bedside to look at him before turning to me. There isn't any accusation in her eyes; no anger or betrayal or repulsion like before.

"Well, go on then." I lift my chin. "If you're gonna bitch at me about falling for Sebastian, you might as well get it over with now. Because I have places to be."

"Are you working with him?"

I smile bitterly. "Of course. He lied to me, schemed behind my back, broke my heart, threw me off a hill, threatened to turn me into a demon and chain me to his 'throne' – of _course _I'm still working with him."

She holds her hands up. "Hey now, I'm just asking. Don't tell me you wouldn't ask if you were me."

"I wouldn't have to," I say hopelessly. "Because you'd never fall for the evil boy who killed your brother."

"True. So why did you?"

I blink. "Why did I fall in love with him?"

She pulls up one of the white plastic chairs from the corner and sits in front of me. Slowly, I do the same, and fold my hands over my lap. I want to answer with sarcasm – _how the hell do I explain falling in love? _But I think it's more of a, _how could you?_ Not accusatory, but as a genuine question. How could I fall in love with Sebastian, despite everything I knew he did?

"I thought he changed," I say finally. "And he did, Izzy. I won't bother giving examples, because you won't care. But I believed then, with all my heart, that he was a better person. I couldn't do anything after I fell for him – my kind loves only once, I told you."

"And when he betrayed you? When you found out about his real plans?"

"It hurt," I say quietly. "Like finding out Simon was draining your brother dry every night, and lied about it."

Isabelle shudders. "Please don't put that image in my head."

"Apologies."

"I'm not saying I accept you and him. I'm not saying you should keep pining after him, either. I know you can't un-love him, and that's okay." She sweeps a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "I want to know, right now, that you understand that he is the enemy."

I nod.

"The Clave won't want your assistance if they think, even for a second, that you still love him. If you're gonna help us stop him, Arta, you have to promise that you'll let us kill him. I'm not asking you to do it yourself – that's probably not possible. But if me or Jace or Clary has Sebastian cornered, and can kill him, you can't stop us because he says something that makes you think he's still good."

I nod again, feeling my eyes blur. "I can do that." _If I blind myself._

"Good."

Neither of us say anything. I wait for Isabelle to get up and leave, but she doesn't. She stays there with me, as if expecting me to say something. So, finally, I do.

"Does this mean we're still besties?" I mumble.

She laughs. Her hand reaches out and takes my own. "Yes, Arta, it does."

* * *

He stood in the center of what used to be a cherished home. Thanks to his little sister, it had been reduced to ashes and rubble. Though he couldn't quite find it in himself to be angry. Sure, at first, he had been furious. All those memories of Angel had lived in that house. But now – well, he was happy; he had nothing to hold him back. Her room wouldn't haunt him as he went to bed. Her scent wouldn't linger in the walls. He was glad to be rid of it.

So why was he still here?

He walked through the rubble, where the hallway of their rooms had once been. He brushed past Jace and Clary's and his and stopped where Angel's had been. Yes, he was glad the house was gone. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't nostalgic.

There wasn't anything left, except the basic outline of her room. He walked it, remembering where her bed had been. He smiled. Now that itself had memories to last a lifetime.

Something crunched beneath his boot, and he paused, pulling his foot back. Ah, the Morgenstern ring. He knelt down, picked it up, and slipped it on his finger, where it belonged.

While he was on his knees, he noticed something else. Multiple things, white and rectangular, charred and scattered among the dead grass. He frowned and picked one up, turning it over in his hands. The image of a crystalline lake met him, dulled by ash and flame, yet still lovely. He picked up another, of MacIntosh castle.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was crawling about on his hands and knees, trying to grab as many of the photos as he could carry, crumbling them in his palm, holding them close to his heart so they wouldn't spill from his hands. He grabbed the last one –

And dropped the other photos.

He rose slowly, still holding the last picture. Finally, he grinned to himself, stepping out of her room, crushing the other photos beneath his boots. He kept walking, not once removing his gaze from the picture. Even as he burned symbols and circles into the land in front of him, then cloaked them with a fresh plot of grass that wouldn't hinder their effect.

Finally, he let the photo fall from his fingers. It fell face-first into the grass, the image never to be viewed again.

"Zeb!" he cried, voice changing. Vulnerable, frightened, desperate. "Zebediah – I need your help! It's Arta!" He stumbled forward, then fell to his knees. "She's in trouble, Zeb. Please. _Please._"

At first he thought the angel would ignore him. Minutes passed, crawling by second by second until, finally, he saw bare feet touch down on the grass and looked up to see a wary yet concerned angel standing in front of him. White wings spread, tipped with gold, just like the image in the photo. Only in person, Zeb looked far less intimidating. Or maybe that was just him.

"_Sebastian_?" he asked, frowning. "_What's wrong?_"

"It's Arta," he said, standing. "She's left me, you see."

The angel frowned, white eyes innocently confused. "_I'm aware of that, Morgenstern. But you said she was in danger. What danger?_"

"Danger from her own mind." He tilted his head, smiling playfully at the angel. "She thinks she can just walk away from me, break me into pieces by the holy sword, and not suffer any repercussions. I'm a dangerous boy, Zeb. And I need to send her a message."

The angel took a step back, immediately stepping into the angel trap. He realized this almost immediately, and whipped his gaze back to Sebastian's. It was angry, but it was also frightened. He loved it – an angel, afraid of him. He wanted to see the angel tremble beneath him.

"_I won't deliver any words from you, Morgenstern,_" he said bravely."_I am not your messenger._"

"Oh, you'll deliver a message for me, Zeb. But it's not your words I want," he said absentmindedly. He extended his arm, and a large, curved knife appeared in his palm. The blade was sharp enough to slice through rock, and he tapped the tip innocently against his chin, grinning at the angel's expression.

Sebastian waved his hands suddenly, and chains sprung up from the earth and bound themselves around the angel boy's wrists, pinning his arms behind his back. He lashed out and slammed his fist into the angel's stomach and he dropped, gasping, to his knees. Another chain appeared, clasping around his neck and burying itself in the ground, pulling him further down so his back was completely vulnerable.

Sebastian knelt down, tracing the tip of the blade down the angel's cheek, making a thin streak of golden ichor run down that pretty pale face.

"_What do_ _you want?_" Zeb asked raggedly. He was afraid – like a child, in the grip of a monster.

He brought his lips to the angel's ear. "Your wings," he whispered.

And then he began to carve.

_To Be Continued _


End file.
